


A Yuri on Ice AU Dump

by sailormelanie



Series: Victor Nikiforov's Parents, Dead or Alive [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Fluff, M/M, Major character death but in the 80s sappy way that doesn't matter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shenanigans, Thirsty Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailormelanie/pseuds/sailormelanie
Summary: Exactly what it sounds like! AU dribs and drabs I wrote a lot of fic for, but that never fully crystallized into stand alone works.I. Da Capo - Victor gets a happy upbringing and a fun childhood, becomes a composer, and is a hot mess when he meets Yuuri. What else is new. (Technically a companion fic to Russian Tea Time, but also can be read without it.)II. Somewhere in Time AU - ROMANTIC SAPPY GOODNESS. Semi-tragic, but happy ending anyway.III. Enemies to Lovers AU - Get You Wild Make You Leave Part 1 - Angst, angst, sex, more angst, we end up somehow with soft boys still.IV. Enemies to Lovers AU - GYWMYL Part 2V. Enemies to Lovers AU - GYWMYL Part 3
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: Victor Nikiforov's Parents, Dead or Alive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002012
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Da Capo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor Nikiforov is a pianist and composer with a cult following, which suits him just fine until a film score he composes for a friend gets massively popular. Unhappy with the uninspired commissions he receives as well as the loss of his creative freedom, he goes on a trip with his family to Hasetsu, Japan in the hopes of relaxing and finding the ability to compose something worthwhile.
> 
> He gets more than he bargained for when he meets Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s ace ice skater who’s equally down on his luck. Yuuri has been a long-time fan of Victor's and has been using his music in his programs for years. When Victor sees Yuuri skate for the first time, the music almost writes itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other words, an AU in which Victor grows up with a very silly, happy family, becomes a musician instead, and still meets and falls in love with Yuuri. It’s the Hallmark movie we all needed! This fic is related to my post-canon/Victor backstory fic “Russian Tea Time”. No need to read it to enjoy this one, but it'll make you appreciate Victor's family more. TBH this is mostly Victor with his family, hardly any actual Victor/Yuuri scenes were written to completion. Don't read, if that's what you were looking for. However, if you wanted a happy family background story for Victor, read on!
> 
> Words in italics are fill in info for scenes inbetween what I finished writing.

"Hasetsu? I've never even heard of that place. Why can't we go to Tokyo or something?"

Elena Nikolayevna Nikiforova's voice rang over Victor's phone, forcing her older brother to pull it away from his ear.

"Lena, calm down,” he laughed, putting the phone close to his ear again. “You're too loud."

It was December. He was in Solnelchik visiting his parents for his own birthday. St. Petersburg had become suffocating in the last few years, and he found himself glad to take a break from it all so he could compose in the comfort of his parents’ home. He’d been receiving one cliched commission after another ever since that damned movie came out, debuting a string of music themes he’d composed on a whim as a favor for a friend. That friend happened to be the director of 2014’s indie film festival darling. For whatever reason, the movie score became outrageously popular, putting Victor back in the spotlight after years of enjoying the fringe.

At ages 7 and 5, Victor and his sister had been heralded as piano prodigies. They became known as the indomitable Nikiforov Wunderkinds, much to their mother’s delight and their father’s chagrin. As a child, Victor didn’t mind the spotlight so much. He just wanted to play the piano, and being famous for it allowed him to do so whenever he wanted. As an adult, however, things changed. The audience kept asking him to play the same pieces over and over. They were disappointed to discover he did not want to entertain them. Performing the same crowd-pleasing Tchaikovsky piano concerto, no matter if it was in Paris, New York, or Budapest got old fast.

He found new worlds in composing. He loved creating and performing what he created. He discovered that as a composer, it was much easier to sail by and please himself rather than mobs of people. But when the movie debuted, Victor’s agent chased after him with hundreds of commission requests.

"You want to make art? Fine. But you have to make money, at some point, or your record label will drop you and you won’t even be able to distribute the stuff you like making."

Chris had a point. Victor didn’t need the whole world to listen to his music, but he needed  _ some _ listeners. He was practical enough to understand that he needed money to fund his taste for Louis Vuitton bags and Ferragamo shoes. 

So he relented and took on as many commissions as he could manage.

While Victor favored composing, Lena basked in the limelight he left behind. She had lived in Victor’s shadow for years when they were young. He was the superior pianist, afterall. But once he left the world of classical piano, she pounced on the chance to claim the title and went on to become the most in-demand piano soloist in the upper echelons of the classical music elite. 

Of course, to Victor, she would always be Little Lena - his very demanding, but very loveable younger sister.

"Ughhh," Lena groaned dramatically over the phone, not wanting to drop the subject. "Is Papa there? Put me on speaker."

Victor left his room and walked downstairs to find his father sitting in his study with a newspaper in hand. Without a word, he placed his phone on the desk in front of the man and switched it to speaker.

"Lena," his father said in a low voice, not looking away from the Business Section, "How is Prague? How did the concert go last night?"

"Prague loves me, I'm a genius, no other pianist like me, blah blah blah," she said, bored. "But anyway, what's this thing about the family trip to Japan?  _ Why _ did you let Mama plan it?"

"Yeah," Victor sighed, agreeing with his high-strung sister for once. "I thought after the Great Siberia Debacle of 2015 we weren't going to let Mama plan any more family vacations."

"Exactly!” Lena shouted. “Papa, pleeeease tell Mama this is a dumb idea."

Nikolay finally looked up from his newspaper to address the pleas of both of his adult children. Victor watched as his father's mouth tightened, deliberating over his options: disappoint his children or disappoint his wife? His father usually tried to find a solution to please all parties involved, but his mother Natalya had a penchant for making that difficult whenever she spearheaded any kind of logistical planning for the family. He sighed, folding the newspaper and standing up.

"I will...do my best. But no promises."

He left his office to reason with his wife, who was enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon reading in bed. Victor picked the phone up and turned off the speaker. He looked at his father's retreat up the stairs, doubtful.

“It's not going to work,” he said.

In spite of her older brother’s doubts, Lena was undeterred.

“Papa is a man! He's supposed to be the patriarch. It'll be fine!”

~

  
  


"The men in this family are useless," Lena scowled, sinking in her brother’s sofa and finishing her second Gin Tonic. 

It had all been settled. She was staying at her brother’s place for the night before their early morning flight from St. Petersburg to Tokyo. There they'd meet up with their parents who were flying into Narita from Moscow, and then take another flight to Fukuoka where their mother said they'd take a train directly to Hasetsu.

Victor laughed, amused by his sister's dramatics. “It couldn't be helped. Mama already paid for the hotel up front. It was non-refundable.”

“But between the two of us, we could've just booked a last minute trip to some Caribbean resort or something! We have the money! You’re practically rolling in it now, with all of the royalties you’re getting.”

“As if Papa would waste money and actually let us pay for something,” Victor sighed. “You know how he is. He wouldn't even let me book their plane tickets so they could get an upgrade from coach.”

Lena scrunched her nose and narrowed her bright blue eyes at her father's frugal habits. She started chewing her cheek in silent protest. She may have been 25 years old, but being the youngest as well as being a talented pianist had spoiled her. Much like her mother before her, she was used to getting her way. 

"It's not that bad,” Victor insisted, pouring his favorite wine into a glass for himself. “Did you check out the website? It's nothing special, but at least it'll be relaxing. You could use some relaxing, especially after a tour.”

She slapped down a coaster and put her glass on the coffee table, pulling her long, silver tendrils into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. “But I'm young! I want to see things while I have the time to see them!”

Victor shook his head, laughing.

“If you're that upset, then why didn't you just book your own vacation?”

Lena scoffed, reaching over the back of the couch to grab the glass of whiskey from her brother’s hand and ignoring his protest. “And miss the family trip a second year in a row? Mama would kill me and Papa would quietly cry in a corner.”

The annual Nikiforov family trip had become something of a tradition. After travel out of Russia became easier and the Nikiforov siblings started seeing more of the world through their tours across Europe, the family turned it into a bit of an event. Some family trips were more enjoyable than others. Trips planned by their mother tended to be a bit...off-kilter and spontaneous. The results ranged from silent prayer retreats with Tibetan monks to boat trips down the Amazon River with a guide they couldn’t understand.

Their mother constantly sought the road less traveled, meaning the trips were more interesting, but highly inconvenient and on occasion, dangerous. 

As Victor poured another whiskey for himself, Lena stretched out on the couch and surveyed her brother’s newly furnished apartment. While his latest commissioned pieces hadn’t been his most impressive, they certainly paid the bills. His white leather couch needed matching furniture and had to be properly lit, after all.

“You should get a dog,” she said finally, taking a large gulp from the whiskey glass. “It’s too quiet here.”

Victor sighed as he pushed his sister’s legs aside and sat next to her on the couch.

"Why would I get a dog when my darling, baby sister could drop in at any moment expecting to be spoiled?"

"What are you talking about? You love having me around,” she scoffed, kicking Victor’s shoulder with her foot.

"It’d be fine if you just came for the pleasure of my company. But when you're stressed you always end up crashing at my place and drinking me out of house and home. You have your own apartment here. Get your own wine collection."

Elena pouted as she sat up lazily, balancing her drink in the palm of her hand. "I just...I get lonely..."

"I thought you were the toast of St. Petersburg, or something. What about Galya or Anya? I thought they were still around."

"I guess...but it's not the same. They don't get me."

Victor snorted. "You're not a teenager anymore."

"Shut up. You know what I mean." Her expression softened as she continued. "It's hard to have good friends. Especially boyfriends. I travel constantly, have an insane schedule, and it makes it impossible to actually get to know someone. I just...I want to fall in love...like Mama and Papa. You know?"

Victor started. His sister usually didn’t worry about romantic entanglements very often. Maybe a few guys here and there when she was in high school, but once she started pursuing her career seriously, no one seemed worth her time. He looked into his whiskey, thoughtful.

"Well...Mama and Papa are kind of special,” he said with a wistful smile. “I'm pretty sure they're the only ones in the world with the patience to deal with the other."

"But," she started, her expression going serious and her voice going quiet. "What if I never find someone with the patience to deal with me?" 

Sometimes Victor wondered the same thing. 

Though Victor and Lena had been surrounded by love all their lives, something always seemed to be missing when they sought out love for themselves. They were both rather particular when it came to romantic partners.

Lena had inherited her mother's looks and her father's shrewdness. That mixed with her strong opinions led to a slew of hot romances that quickly erupted when Lena would not bend. She would always end up dumping the man and moving on.

Victor wasn’t quite as stubborn as his sister, but  the few guys he’d chosen to be with ended up leaving him, either for the obsessiveness with which he tended to approach his music, especially in the early days.

Both siblings were both consumed by their art. It would probably doom them for the rest of their lives.

But he decided against telling his baby sister as much.

“That definitely sounds like the alcohol talking. You said it yourself earlier. You’re still young. You’re still travelling. A guy would just weigh you down.”

Lena shook her head, unsatisfied by the logic of having her own words turned against her. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes focused as if she were unpuzzling a rare math problem. Used to his sister’s sudden bouts of silent but intense thought, Victor stared at her hair, briefly wondering what it would’ve been like if he had decided to grow his hair out like that.

“I have a theory,” she said finally, her voice taking on the unnaturally low pitch she used when she wanted to say something with gravitas.

Lena’s theories tended to sound borderline nonsensical 100% of the time, but were surprisingly correct 50% of the time. Victor waited for a follow-up, but his sister was waiting to be prompted. He relented. “What’s the theory?”

“Mama and Papa have ruined us for romance.”

“What?”

“Think about it!” she shouted, sitting up and just barely holding her drink upright. “Our whole lives we’ve grown up watching their lovey-dovey marriage, hearing their romantic love story over and over again and now we’ll never be able to settle for less!”

“Woe is us,” Victor moaned, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in a show of silly dramatics. “Our parents are incredibly loving all the time and have a great marriage...”

“They’ve set totally unrealistic standards for us!” she continued, half laughing, half angry. “They actually had sex during the Soviet days. NO ONE had sex during the Soviet days! While other people were busy despairing about their lot in life and worrying about nuclear bombs, our parents were rolling around having sex in meadows! It’s ridiculous!”

“You have had way too much to drink,” Victor said, taking the whiskey glass from his sister’s waving hand. “You’re going to ruin my very expensive couch.”

“Mark my words, Vitya,” she said, her frenetic energy dropping, her voice taking on a sage-like tone. “It’s always the parents’ fault.”

Rather than entertaining his sister’s drunken musings, Victor opted to take her almost-finished whiskey to the kitchen.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll grab the blankets and pillows,” he said as he emptied the glass and put it in the dishwasher along with his own. 

“Vityaaaa….don’t wanna…” she whined, lying across the sofa once more and filling the empty space her brother had left behind. “Can you brush my teeth for me?” 

“Lenaaaaaa,” he echoed back at her in his usual teasing, sing-song. “Noooooww. Or else I won’t even give you your favorite pillow.”

She groaned in response before she slipped off the couch and pretended to drag herself to the bathroom.

~

When they arrived at Yuu-topia, Victor stood at the entrance path as his father worked out the payment to the taxi driver and his mother fussed about how much more lovely the inn looked in person. 

It was as small and quaint as the website had promised. The fact that the inn appeared as pictured already made this trip more of a success than their mother’s last planned vacation. The only thing that wasn’t as promised was the snow. 

Victor had been so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize his family had already made their way through the entrance of the inn, leaving Victor standing alone in the pathway with his and his sister’s bags. He rushed inside, slightly indignant.

“Lena!” Victor whined as he chased his sister through the front door of the inn, exasperated with the broken wheel that had been plaguing them since they’d arrived in Japan. “You could at least take care of your own luggage.”

But instead of shooting back at her brother with a sassy retort, Lena got on her tip-toes and whispered in a low voice, “I’m checking out the guy checking us in. He’s…”

Victor followed her gaze and immediately understood what she meant.

The man with warm, brown eyes looking thoughtfully over some papers at the front desk and checking their parents’ passports was  _ cute _ . 

Ridiculously cute.

He was wearing a simple, blue and grey color-block sweater. He spoke in quiet murmurs as he addressed some of his mother’s rather loud inquiries about the snow and how it would affect their usage of the hot springs. When he raised his eyebrows, his messy bangs just barely touched the blue frames of his glasses.

Victor was a sucker for men in glasses.

Who wasn’t?

The man was lithe, for the most part, but his features were gentle and his cheeks just the slightest bit round. His pink lips perked up into a little smile when he found the information he was looking for on the sheet of paper. He said something quietly to their father as he pointed out something to the left, likely where their rooms were. 

When the man leaned down to pick up his mother’s travel bag, Victor had to stop himself from gawking at the stranger in the fabulously tight jeans helping his parents with their luggage.

“Dibs,” Lena whispered, nudging Victor out of his entranced stare at the beautiful man talking to their parents. He groaned in response. Since they'd been kids, they'd had a habit of calling dibs on cute boys they liked. Lena had dibs on Jamie Dornan (with a beard), Idris Elba (without a beard), Takeshi Kaneshiro, Gael Garcia Bernal, the cute barista at Victor’s favorite coffee shop, and worst of all, Andrei from Victor’s 7th grade literature class. She had much faster reflexes than Victor and was far more aggressive with her claims, though they were in jest.

Most of the time, anyway.

When the man shifted and took notice of Victor and Lena standing at the door, he suddenly squealed and almost dropped their mother’s luggage.

“You’re-!” he shouted, clamping up when he realized how loud his voice was.

“These are our children, Victor and Elena,” Natasha sang out, proudly presenting her offspring. “The whole Nikiforov family will be bothering you for the next two weeks! I hope that’s all right!” 

“Victor and Elena Nikiforov...the...the pianists?!” the man said under his breath, sounding as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You can call me Vitya if you want,” Victor heard himself say. The wink and smirk that accompanied his dumb flirtacious words were an involuntary reflex. He cringed inwardly. His own thirstiness was his own worst enemy. It put him in a million embarrassing situations he ended up having to commit to if only because he hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying something corny or suggestive in the first place. Lena snorted, barely containing her guffaw.

In response, the man continued staring, an odd mixture of awe and confusion stretching across his now blushing face.

Jesus. Why was Victor such a disaster in front of cute boys? He could flirt his way out of a speeding ticket with ease, but when it came to courting men he actually found attractive, he tripped up and covered his tracks with a weird, frenetic energy that bordered on annoying.

Lena had admonished him for it constantly, and he was seldom able to break the habit.

To his relief, a woman rushed up from a curtained off area behind the desk, breaking the awkward silence that had followed Victor’s exclamation.

“Hello! Welcome! Hello!”

The lovely, brown-haired round woman was obviously related to the man greeting them. Her kind, warm eyes matched his now fervent ones. They exchanged a few words in Japanese, the man apparently getting her up to speed on the state of their check in.

“Come in, come in!” she said, nodding along with the man’s string of muttered explanation and gesturing for them to walk down the hall and go up the stairs. A younger woman with piercings and dyed hair came in from the back as well. She took one look at the frozen man, sighed, and took the luggage from his hands.

_ ~Some dialogue as Hiroko helps the family settle in ~ _

Natasha - “Was that your son?” 

Hiroko - “Yes, yes! Yuuri!”

Natasha - “He seemed a bit surprised. Is he all right?”

“Yuuri...hmm…” the woman paused, searching for the words. “Big fan! Big, big music fan! Since little!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Natasha crowed, even more excited that her children were being recognized all the way in Japan. “They’ve performed in Tokyo before, but I didn’t know my babies would have fans all over Japan!”

“Yes, yes! Yuuri there! In Tokyo!”

Never in his life had Victor been so thankful for his past life as a piano savant. 

“Ice skating!” the woman said, proud and pointing at a poster further down the hallway depicting Yuuri on the ice. 

_ The family settles into the inn and after a few days, get into a lazy routine. Victor sees Yuuri around, but classic Yuuri does his best to avoid him, clearly embarrassed after their first encounter and hoping to avoid making a complete fool of himself. Eventually he ends up getting bored and decides to take a walk on his own around Hasetsu, and then... _

Victor was completely lost. Without a phone to guide him or even a physical map, he knew he had no hope of making it back to the onsen with his terrible sense of direction. Somehow he had made it to a bridge between the main part of where he’d been walking and another part of town.

He waved at a lone fisherman with a long line dangling over the edge of the bridge. 

“Hello!” he shouted as he got the man’s attention. “English?”

The man smiled but shook his head. 

“Ahh...Yuu-topia? Onsen?”

He hoped that would be enough to get the man to at least point him in the right direction. The man seemed to understand, but pondered a bit. He looked over to the side of the river where Victor had come from and chewed on his lip, perhaps trying to figure out how to give Victor directions in a way he’d understand. As the man looked to the other side of the bridge, an idea seemed to strike him at the sight of a large, block-like building.

He pointed at the building and said something rather quickly, the only word Victor catching being the word “Yuuri-kun.”

“Yuuri? Katsuki?” Victor said, hopeful.

The man nodded, saying something else and smiling.

Victor thanked him and headed in the direction of the building, hoping he’d find Yuuri there and maybe get another chance to see that lovely shade of red on his cheeks again. If Victor was getting one thing out of this odd family trip, at least it was the sight of the innkeeper’s cute son blushing.

As Victor neared the building, he realized it was an ice rink. Ice Castle was printed in huge letters along the side. Yuuri must have been practicing. He wondered briefly if his interruption would bother Yuuri. He could at least ask for some written directions so Yuuri wouldn’t be put off on his behalf.

He entered through the glass doors only to find no one at the counter. As he looked around more seriously, he realized no one else was there. It seemed like the place was supposed to be closed. 

As he wandered down the hallway leading to what was probably the main rink, the echoing sound of a familiar tune floated through the air. Victor’s ears perked up. He hadn’t expected to hear this piece all the way in Japan. He knew he had a bit of a following, but this piece hadn’t been widely released like some of his others. It was something he’d worked on for months. His label had deemed it “too sentimental” for wide-release, opting to put it out as a single on an indie streaming site rather than making it part of the main album he’d put out that year. 

He followed the soaring triplets of the lone piano, 

When he opened the double doors, he gasped. 

Yuuri was skating.

Yuuri was skating to  _ his _ music. 

And Victor had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

He’d always liked this piece, though he had never been able to put a finger on why. The label had been right. The piece was sentimental. An overflowing spiel of notes fluttering about like the wings of a hummingbird. Seeing Yuuri embody the music with the arch of his back and reach of his arm brought a sense to the music that Victor himself hadn’t known was there before. 

Yuuri understood and interpreted Victor’s music better than Victor himself. The realization kicked up the tempo of his heartbeat. He was sure any metronome attempting to mimic his palpitations would have broken.

Victor had never been struck by some overflowing creative muse or intense inspiration before. His music usually came to him in dribs and drabs, slow culminations from the ripples of his life. He suddenly understood all of the over-the-top, romantic depictions of artistic creation he’d seen in movies or read descriptions of in books. It really was like being struck by lightning 

Victor could see...no...hear the music in his mind with every spin and glide Yuuri carved into the ice. 

And not just the music that was currently playing.

New music.

A swell of violins. Brass murmuring in the background. Percussion singing out syncopated beats.

He could hear a whole symphony.

It was love at second sight, and for the first time in a long time, Victor let himself get totally swept away by it.

_ After this incident, Victor approaches Yuuri with his own “fanboy-ness” - of course, Yuuri is shy about it at first, but ultimately that helps break the ice (sorry...lol) for them to really start to get to know each other and become friends. During the vacation, the two of them spend a lot of time talking about ice skating and music (Lena joins in here and there, but only in a superficial capacity). Yuuri explains his ice skating slump - the two connect and sympathize with each other - both of them are in areas that require complete dedication and where there are high expectations from the audience. And yet both of them don’t know how or if they can meet those expectations.  _

_ Through their conversations, they end up inspiring each other to pursue their own arts with new vigor. The end of the Nikiforov family vacation is bittersweet, but they part promising to visit. Yuuri gets determined to get into skating again, and ends up moving to Thailand so that Celestino can coach both him and Phichit easily. _

_ And now a little Nikiforov sibling dialogue interlude... _

Lena: Maybe I should've gone out with Grisha.

Victor: Grisha? Which Grisha?

Lena: Grisha...mm..

Lena struggled with the last name, then gave up. 

Lena: He was in your year. The doctor's son?

Victor: THAT Grisha?? Why? He was so boring!

Lena: Yeah that's why I rejected him. But he probably would've been pretty safe. A good practice boyfriend. 

Victor rolled his eyes. “I'm surprised he even asked you out.”

Lena: If I had had a good practice boyfriend in high school, then maybe I would have more figured out now! I've never had a long term boyfriend! Nothing longer than a few months! I probably could have been with Grisha for a few years, graduated, and then dumped him. 

Victor: Oh? And how are you so sure he wouldn't have dumped you first?

At that Lena could only laugh.

_ Another interlude scene in which Victor is wildly composing in the comfort of his parents’ home when he’s supposed to be doing other commissions Chris, his agent, sends him. Tanya is the family nanny, but even though he and his sister have grown up, she has kind of become part of the family and they couldn't get rid of her even if they wanted to. _

“Chris,” Victor said, setting the phone down on the table. “You’re on speaker. I’m in Solnelchik and helping Tanya make pirozhki.” 

“ Hello, Tanya _ , _ ” Chris greeted in Russian, used to Victor being pulled into familial shenanigans that busied his hands when he was supposed to be having a serious meeting with Chris about his contracts.

“ Hello, Christophe! How is your husband, is he well? ” she said jovially, arranging some of the finished piroshki on the baking sheet.

“ I’ve told you, Tanya, we’re not married _ , _ ” he laughed, having heard this line a million times before. _ “He’s my boyfriend.”  _

“ But you are living together, correct? _ ”  _

_ “ _ That is correct. _ ” _

She clucked her tongue in disapproval, Chris’s giggles crackling over the speaker. 

“Speaking of marriage,” Chris said before Victor could add a teasing remark, “Did you see that commission for that rom-com?” 

Victor hesitated, scanning his brain for excuses but finding none.

“I may have seen such a request in my inbox.” 

Chris waited for elaboration, but none came.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Victor…” he groaned, exasperated.

“Chris!” 

“Most musicians would die for the money and gigs you get. Of all my clients, you are by far the most spoiled,” Chris sighed over the phone. “Honestly it’s a wonder you’re only half as rotten as you could’ve been. Thank god for Papa Nikiforov. That man is the only one keeping the whole Nikiforov family tied to earth.”

Nikolay coughed at the mention, clearly covering a laugh and attempting not to disturb his son’s business call. Victor smiled as he filled the last bit of dough he had with a spoonful of seasoned ground beef.

“True. We’d all be helpless without Papa,” Lena sang, coming in from the kitchen and kissing her father’s forehead as she passed.

“Lena, you’re there too?!” Chris almost shouted. “You’re supposed to be preparing for your Asia tour! You should be in Hong Kong already!”

“Right...oops, sorry, forgot!” she giggled, as she got a kiss from Tanya and took a tray of finished Pirozhki to the kitchen.

Chris’s groan over the speaker echo

“Lena,” their father admonished quietly. “Don’t torture poor Christophe. She’s going to the airport in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Papa Nikiforov. Now could you please also get your son on a plane to Zürich so I can beat some sense into him?”

“Christophe, you know I do not condone violence.”

“I appreciate it, Chris. I really do. But I’m working on some pieces at the moment that I’m actually excited about, for the first time in a long time. Can we just hold off on some of the commission requests until after I finish? Please? I know it’s going to be something special. It might even surprise you.”

Chris was silent for a while, before muttering a few curses in German Victor knew that Chris knew he understood.

  
  


_ Chris ends up agreeing to let Victor compose in peace. Victor sends one of his pieces to Yuuri pretending like it’s just asking for his opinion, but really it’s a romantic declaration and the piece was obviously written with Yuuri in mind. Yuuri loves it, doesn’t read it as a romantic declaration in true Yuuri-Katsuki-is-a-dumb-dumb fashion, but asks if he can someday use the music for a future skate. Without consulting his agent (poor Chris), Victor grants Yuuri permission to use the music NOW even though it hasn’t had an official debut yet (VICTOR YOU ARE TOO THIRSTY CALM DOWN). Yuuri decides to use it for his free skate  _

_ The two pine and pine and pine like there’s no tomorrow. _

_ And then, as in canon, Yuuri competes in the Cup of China which inspires this dialogue between Phichit and Yuuri about Victor “coincidentally” having a surprise piano recital in Beijing with Lena (poor Chris was harassed into this)… _

Phichit: So he just  _ happened _ to plan a spontaneous piano recital in Beijing around the same time you’re scheduled to compete?

Yuuri: ...yeah? 

Phichit: Riiiiight…

Yuuri: What?

Phichit: Are you sure you guys are just...friends?

Yuuri: I mean... I think he thinks of my skating as his muse or something.

Phichit: Your skating? Or you?

Yuuri: You’re reading too much into this. He probably...just wants to see the reception of his piece. This is technically its international debut, you know? 

Phichit: Yuuri. I love you, but the lengths to which you will go to convince yourself that someone  _ isn’t _ attracted to you make me want to shake you sometimes.

  
  


_ When Victor and Lena go to see Yuuri skate, Victor thinks he sees Yuuri and Lena flirting, and is a little heartbroken because as the older brother, he'd never interfere with Lena's love life, especially since they've been supporting each other for so long. _

_ He writes an entire album's worth of music in his angst that becomes ridiculously popular, putting him in a lot more spotlight than he's seen in a while. He's unphased, however, because all he wants is Yuuri and he doesn't want to make a move.  _

_ Kolya notices his son's issue and has a good sit down with him. Victor finally unloads his issue, and Kolya is like, "Well...why don't you just talk with your sister about it?" _

_ This results in this dialogue with Lena... _

Lena: Wait. You think he's interested in  _ me _ ? And that  _ I'm _ interested in  _ him _ ?

Victor: Well...aren't you?

Lena: Vitya. I say this with love. You're lucky you're so pretty. Because you are so very dumb. Like, so, so dumb.

Victor: Hey!

Lena: I'm being serious. That boy  _ loves _ you. He probably loved you before he even met you. He listened to your second album multiple times.  _ No one _ liked that album. Not even your hardcore fans.

Victor: It wasn't that ba-

Natasha: She's right, sweetie. That one was terrible. I couldn't sit through a single piece.

Victor (with typical Victor over-the-top silly drama): Mama! I thought I was your son, and you'd love me and my music no matter what?

Natasha: A mother’s love might be blind, but it isn't deaf.

_ So yayyy Victor has an epiphany and then gets all excited to go confess his love to Yuuri in person. But then... _

  
  


Victor: “Why can’t I just go to where he is right now?!”

Lena: “Have movies taught you NOTHING?! You need to make a grand gesture!”

Victor: “But spontaneously flying out to Thailand  _ is  _ a grand gesture!”

Lena: “I already bought both of us plane tickets and Grand Prix final tickets, plus I am living vicariously through your epic romance right now, so I need you to do this right!”

Victor: “I can't wait that long!”

The two argued, shooting points back and forth about the pros and cons of flying out right away or waiting until the final in Barcelona, until finally Nikolay, not looking up from his newspaper, cleared his throat.

The siblings stopped suddenly and looked over at their father, attentively curious as to what the man would have to say in regards to a declaration of love.

“Isn't that young man currently preparing for a major, international competition that's in five days?”

“Yes,” both siblings said.

“Perhaps it would be best to let Mr. Katsuki focus on that, yes?”

Victor and Lena stared at their father in awe. The man had a talent for pointing out the obvious in a calm, even tone, a skill especially necessary when his wife and children all had the tendency to get carried away. As the two processed what their father had just said, their mother skipped over and draped her arms over her husband’s shoulders lovingly.

“Oh darling, you’re so considerate!” she cooed, nuzzling her head against Nikolay’s cheek.

The man blushed, years of experiencing this level of affection having done nothing for his tolerance.

“Not especially…” he muttered, flustered beyond belief by his wife’s overtures in front of their children.

“That’s…” Lena started, an air of haughtiness taking over as she turned away from their parents and eyed her brother, “...exactly why I told you to wait until Barcelona!”

“You’re such a liar!” Victor laughed, his sister’s haughtiness withering. “You weren’t thinking about that at all!”

As they left the dining room, Lena looked over her shoulder only to see her mother still cuddling her totally red-faced father. She grimaced and stuck out her tongue, pretending to gag. Victor stopped as well, looking over at their parents and sighing.

“Mama,” he said gently. “You’re going to accidentally suffocate Papa someday.”

She wasn’t deterred one bit.

“He’s fiiiiine, right Kolya?”

Their father said nothing in reply, his whole body stiff as his grip on his newspaper tightened.

Victor and Lena looked at each other, both of them shrugging and deciding to leave their parents to their own devices for the rest of the evening. 

_ And then yeah. Of course Victor flies out to Barcelona, does a big confession in-between the Short Program and the Free Skate, and the high that induces in Yuuri boosts him to getting gold (sorry Yuri Plisetsky). They are in love, Victor goes where Yuuri goes, there’s a big beautiful wedding, Victor’s entire family cries, all is well! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Self-indulgent AU written solely because I really liked the parents I created for Victor in Russian Tea Time and I wanted to imagine a world in which his mother lived. He gets a baby sister! They are ridiculous together! Fun times are had! The end!
> 
> The whole thing is a mess, but there was too much written to just leave languishing in the nethersphere of my laptop. Will never finish writing it properly, unfortunately, but it was nice to revisit.


	2. Somewhere in Time AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri Katsuki has already become a best selling author at the young age of 27. At his first major book signing, a mysterious blue-eyed, silver-haired old man appears, claiming he’s been searching for Yuuri for fifty years. The man disappears soon afterwards, leaving Yuuri with a golden ring and a string of unanswered questions. 
> 
> Yuuri discovers soon after that the man was Victor Nikiforov, a famous figure skater whose last season was decades ago. Concerned by Victor’s obvious case of senility, Yuuri takes it upon himself to return the ring and clear up the confusion. Along the way, he comes upon a strange photo of himself standing next to a much younger looking Victor...from 1969. His search for the truth behind the photo sends him on a journey through time that changes his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the sappy, indulgent romantic 80s movie AU no one asked for - A Somewhere in Time AU! Yeah I did that. If you don’t know anything about that movie, all you need to know is that it’s corny and romantic and tragic as hell. Please mind the tags. This fic was purely fueled by me listening to the Somewhere in Time soundtrack/score on repeat. I may or may not have been write-crying??? Just listen to this and you’ll get it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esrTfwBiOM0
> 
> This whole thing is super unfinished and a very hot mess. I’m sorry. But also not. This whole collection is just unfinished AUs I’m only going through and posting now because it was the only good therapy I could think of to get myself through election week.

Yuuri Katsuki had become a famous writer, much to his chagrin.

In the few months after its debut, his first book had earned him some modest success and decent praise from a handful of critics in major literary circles. And then one morning six months later, he received a text telling him he'd made it on the New York Times Best Sellers list. The slew of emails and phone calls he'd received afterwards from media outlets to his publishing company had sent him into a whirlwind. Were it not for his agent and his assistant, he surely would’ve keeled over at the first request for a late night talk show interview.

Somehow he had survived that round. But the build-up to his second book was worse. This time, the publisher scheduled an entire book signing tour across the country the week after the book’s launch. 

“Yuuri, deep breaths, deep breaths,” Phichit said, coaching him on the morning of his first major book signing at a Barnes & Noble in LA. “The people coming here tonight are your fans. They have read your book. They  _ loved _ your book. And they just want to see you, hear you read a little bit, and have you sign some paper. That’s all, got it?”

Yuuri nodded furiously in an attempt to assure both himself and his publicist. 

“Good. This is the first stop on the tour. It’s going to be the hardest. The rest will feel easy, ok? I’ve seen this a million times before, and I promise it gets easier.”

Yuuri nodded again, though this time it felt a bit shakier than the last.

“Ok. I'm going to have the photographer take some photos during the signing for your social accounts. Any preferences for the label or the hashtags?”

“Erm…” Yuuri muttered, wondering why Phichit always asked for his input on the social media posts when they had a team of specialists who knew far better than he did. “Maybe the first sentence from chapter 3?” 

Phichit nodded as he whipped out his phone to send the suggestion off to the intern who managed Yuuri's social accounts. 

“Got it. Done.”

He'd never get over that. His own words and wishes suddenly materialized into an action with the flick of a wrist. Phichit wasn't even supposed to be his publicist. Last year he'd worked at a top tier agency in charge of huge Hollywood celebrities. When Yuuri became famous, he’d clutched at his best friend like a security blanket, begging him for tips on how to deal with his sudden need to handle his image. At the sight of his childhood friend wringing his hands in tears, Phichit had pat Yuuri on the shoulder, made a few phone calls, and made himself Yuuri's publicist. 

When Yuuri balked at Phichit's decision, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

“We're in this together now,” he had said. “As your best friend, it's my job to make sure you’re happy and don't make a fool of yourself. At least now I'm getting paid for it.”

Phichit may have been getting paid, but the wage was meager compared to his normal clients. At Phichit's stubborn, but well-qualified insistence, Yuuri's publisher agreed to hire him as a freelancer, in spite of the fact that they already had a well-oiled publicist team.

Between Phichit and his agent, Celestino, Yuuri's needs and fears were quickly taken care of all so he could focus on his writing.

The power and luxury of it made him feel anxious. He was a fraud.

Why had that first book been so successful in the first place? What was worse, he couldn’t believe the publisher was arranging an entire book tour for his  _ second  _ book. He was no Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, and yet for some reason, the publisher decided he was already a bankable author. Someone had obviously made a huge mistake, and Yuuri was terrified what the consequences would be when everyone found out.

Yuuri just wrote little stories about his life.

Both of his novels were fictionalized versions of scenes from his own experiences, immigrating from Japan to the United States, and then growing up in Los Angeles as a somewhat displaced but fascinated observer of what it meant to be human in his own world.

His identity. His confusion. His fear.

Those were the subjects of Yuuri’s books.

So why did anyone care?

The first one had been easy to write, but difficult to get published. 

The second one had been a nightmare to write, but its publication had never been a question. Seung-Gil, his cranky editor, had practically pried it out of his almost dead hands as soon as he’d finished it.

He had locked himself up for a year to finish it, the pressure of the first book’s success weighing on him. 

_ Yuuri’s book tour kicks off in LA at a large bookstore (probably Barnes & Noble, I don’t know). There’s a sizable crowd gathered to hear Yuuri read and to get their books signed. Through it all, of course our classic Yuuri is full of self-doubt and is anxious, but everyone watching him is entranced and a huge fan, so regardless of whether or not he stutters, they don’t give a fuck. And then, as the book signing session starts... _

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri looked behind him only to find a tall, elderly man with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They pierced into him with a strange intensity, full of joy and wonder as he waved at him wildly. The man wore a surprisingly fashionable, well-cut grey suit that seemed to fit him perfectly. His hair was an odd shade of silver with grey speckled in. He leaned on a long, dark wooden cane that tapered at the bottom, apparently using it as a sort of crutch rather than as a fashion statement.

He looked vaguely familiar - maybe he had been a model when he was younger? Yuuri liked flipping through old magazines for character inspiration. He could easily imagine the man had had stunning good looks back in his day. He still did, to a certain extent.

The man hobbled with his cane to get closer to Yuuri. Taking pity, Yuuri walked away from the fans still waiting for autographs and towards the old man to make it easier to reach him. As soon as the gap was closed, however, the man gripped one of Yuuri’s shoulders tightly with his free hand to steady himself and really look at Yuuri. His eyes seemed to trace every feature of Yuuri's face until finally, tears welled up in them and he dropped his cane, wrapping both arms around Yuuri in an embrace.

From the corner of his eye, Yuuri could see Phichit get on the defensive and make his way over, but Yuuri waved him off. He’d be fine. If this guy was a creep, he was pretty sure he could handle an old man with a cane on his own.

“I found you!” he shouted, breathless. He pulled away from the hug just a bit to look at Yuuri once more and beam at him as if he were some kind of treasure. “It took me so many years, but I found you!”

Yuuri blinked, stunned. Why had this man been searching for him for years? He’d only started publishing novels last year. But then the logical part of his brain kicked in. The man  _ was _ a bit old.

“I’m...I’m sorry, who are you?” Yuuri said, pulling away from the hug, but doing his best to keep his tone polite.

The brightness in the man’s eyes dulled as he registered Yuuri’s lack of recognition. His grip around Yuuri loosened, his arms falling to his sides, almost lifeless. 

“Ah,” he said quietly, his smile becoming filled with more and more melancholy. “You don’t...you don’t know me yet, do you?”

_ Yet? _ Yuuri wondered.  _ What did he mean by yet? _

“I...I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

The look of dejection that flooded the man’s entire figure made Yuuri’s heart ache. He had obviously confused Yuuri with someone else, perhaps because he shared the same name as that person. Old age could be difficult, especially when the memory started to go. The sadness that washed over him was so infectious that it made Yuuri wonder if this man’s Yuuri had been an old friend who was long gone. Perhaps a lover he missed.

“What’s your name?” Yuuri asked carefully, not wanting to brush the man off or make him feel worse than he already did.

“It’s all right,” he sighed, taking one of Yuuri’s hands into his own and holding it up to his mouth, kissing it with a gentle reverence. The golden ring the man wore on his right hand appeared to gleam as Yuuri’s breath hitched. The action felt so warm and natural, Yuuri didn’t have the sense to pull away. In spite of hearing Phichit sputtering behind him, he could only blush in response. 

“I’ll wait for you,” the man said. He let go of Yuuri’s hand to remove the ring from his finger. He took Yuuri’s hand once more and folded the ring into it, holding it there tightly as if for safekeeping.

“I’ve been waiting 50 years, after all.”

The strange, gentle words sank into Yuuri as the man picked up his cane, turned and walked away, his posture a little straighter as he did his best not to hobble. The man exited the bookstore leaving Yuuri speechless. He didn’t come back to his senses until his publicist grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Yuuri! Did you know that guy?”

He shook his head, looking down at the ring still in his hand.

“Shit! Why did I let him give me the ring?! It’s probably valuable or something!”

Before he could run after him, Phichit pulled him back.

“No, no, no! We’re already behind schedule as it is. We need to finish up this book signing and move on to your interview with the LA Times. I’ll go after him for you. Just keep signing books!”

Phichit took the ring from Yuuri’s hands and sped off.

From behind him, Yuuri could hear some people whispering about what they had just witnessed.

“Wasn’t that...Victor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri spun around and looked for the source of the comment. His eyes landed on the figure of a woman who had been whispering to a friend. 

“Excuse me, who did you say that man was?”

“Uhm. Victor Nikiforov? The figure skater?”

“Victor...Nikiforov…” he repeated dumbly, still processing what had just happened.

“But he hasn’t been in the public eye for decades,” the woman shrugged, seeming a little apologetic. “I’m not really sure what he looks like now. It probably wasn’t him.”

Yuuri wasn’t too involved in that world, but he had certainly heard of the greatest figure skater of all time. That was probably why the man had seemed somewhat familiar. 

Phichit returned to the bookstore and returned the ring to Yuuri, unable to track down the mystery man. When he got home, instead of falling asleep like he should have, he found himself scrolling through his phone, reading all kinds of old articles about Victor Nikiforov. The resemblance to the man he’d met at the bookstore was unmistakable. The airy, silver hair. The well-defined jawline. The vivid blue eyes. 

The man was beautiful. And a legend. He’d dominated the figure skating world for almost a decade.

But in the late 60s, he’d pulled out of a competition due to an injury. Soon after he retired and disappeared.

Skating fans were stunned. The man used to be a press darling and gave interviews freely, and then he just retired without even giving a press conference as to why. Yuuri was pretty sure he’d heard about a documentary made on the subject - “ _ The Disappearance of Victor Nikiforov _ .” A bit sensational, to be sure, but his family and coach refused to make a public comment beyond the fact that Victor was taking it easy and would appreciate it if people respected his privacy. People speculated that perhaps the pressure had gotten to him. Maybe his injury had been too serious, and he was too ashamed to face the public. 

More paranoid reports wondered if he had been pressured to quit by the US government. He’d been accused of being a Soviet spy more than once, his Russian roots making him the target of more than one investigation during his time as a professional athlete. 

_ Yuuri finishes out his tour, all the while thinking about that weird incident with the mystery man. He gets a little obsessed and eventually attempts to track the man down, at least to return the ring. His search ends rather quickly when he finds an announcement that Victor Nikiforov died on the day they met, leaving behind an 18-year-old nephew (Yuri Plisetsky). The article is short on details, but through some connections, Yuuri is able to figure out the number to call, gets in touch with Yuri, and asks if he can come by to give him the ring. Then... _

A for-sale sign covered with a “SOLD” sticker stood on the lawn before the house. Before Yuuri even made it to the door to knock, it swung open, revealing a slight, blonde teen a few inches shorter than Yuuri. Yuuri presumed this must have been the nephew 

“ _ You're  _ Yuuri Katsuki?” the teen scoffed, somewhat incredulous. 

Yuuri shrugged. “I guess?”

The teen frowned in thought, looking Yuuri up and down. He shrugged, apparently making his mind up about something as he stepped back from the doorway and headed inside.

Yuuri supposed that was as good an invitation as any to go in.

He followed the teen down a long hallway. He couldn't help but peer into the rooms. Most were completely empty, save for a few boxes.

“So…you're moving?”

The teen grunted in affirmation. “The house is too damn big for me. I'm moving out to the east coast for college anyway. Maintaining this mansion would be a pain in the ass. Stupid old man left everything to me without even thinking.”

“I see…”

Yuuri couldn’t think of much to say. Small talk had never been his forte, and the teen didn’t seem too keen on having company in the first place. He kept peering over his shoulder to look at Yuuri and glare.

“I can't believe that old man had me drive him all the way to LA for you,” Yuuri overheard him mutter. 

This teen must have driven Victor to the bookstore and driven him away as soon as he left. That must have been why Phichit hadn't found him.

“Did your uncle say-” Yuuri started, not knowing how to ask, with grace, why in the world former figure skating star Victor Nikiforov had wanted to find him in the first place. 

“He's not-” the teen flinched as he corrected himself, “He  _ was _ my great uncle.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, once again not knowing how to respond. “I see.”

Yuuri quickly noticed that all the time they’d been walking through the house, there’d been no other sign of anyone else living here. Only mountains and mountains of things. But the house was huge. He couldn’t quite believe that only two people had been living here. 

“Do you have any other family around, or-”

“No,” the teen grunted, cutting him off once again. “It’s just been us since I was 14.”

“I see. I'm…I'm sorry. All this must be hard on you.” 

Yuuri had never been good at comforting people. He could only suppose at the loss the teen was feeling.

“Not really,” the teen muttered. “I was the one taking care of him in the end anyway. I'm fine taking care of myself.”

“I'm sure you can take care of yourself just fine,” Yuuri whispered in spite of himself. “But… that doesn't make it any less lonely.”

Yuuri could see the teen’s shoulders tighten, as if he felt ashamed to be caught in the act of caring. Before Yuuri could apologize for overstepping, Yuri changed the subject. 

“Ever since I moved in with him, that old geezer had me Googling your name every day. It was weird.” 

Yuuri balked. He knew he had fans early, but he couldn’t imagine how in the world Victor would have even heard of him 4 years ago. 4 years ago he was still a nobody freelance ghostwriter barely scraping a living together.

“That’s...uhm...I’m flattered? Does...did he like reading?”

“He was fucking obsessed with reading. Here,” Yuri said, stepping to the side of the doorway so Yuuri could walk into the room first. When Yuuri entered, he gasped. 

Unlike the rest of the house, the study was furnished and full. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves.

“Wow. He...really likes books, huh?”

Yuri shrugged. “I guess.” The teen motioned towards a small table and two armchairs in the corner of the room. “Sit over there. I’ll get you coffee or something.”

“Water is fine.”

“I already made the coffee.”

“Then coffee is also good.”

“Tch.”

He skulked away, leaving Yuuri to wander through what he supposed must have been Victor Nikiforov’s study.

The man had quite the eclectic collection.

One shelf was entirely devoted to books about time travel and what looked like science fiction. Another was stuffed to the brim with travel guides and very squished, almost torn travel journals. An entire row was dedicated to Japan specifically, with several extra books on Kyushu. Yuuri was surprised. He didn’t know people were so interested in his birthplace, particularly the island of Kyushu. It was lovely, but it wasn’t exactly a hot tourist region like Kyoto or Tokyo.

Yuuri stared at the shelf nearest to the reading corner. Rows and rows of well-worn books that looked like they had been read and re-read for years. One book in particular caught his eye. He pulled out  _ Ulysses _ carefully, doing his best not to further rip the already tattered cover. It was by far the most damaged book of them all. He opened it up and discovered why. Every margin was filled to the brim with scrawled thoughts and ideas. Nothing visionary. Just a lot of,  _ “What the hell does that mean?!” _

Yuuri glanced over some of the casual commentary. He wasn’t sure if James Joyce would’ve been amused or offended. When he flipped to the section where the structure switched to a play, the extra margins became extra filled.

_ “I can’t believe I let Yuuri talk me into reading this. When I find him, I’m going to slap him. And then hug him. Not sure which first.” _

If he hadn’t been so puzzled, he would’ve laughed. Had he meant his great nephew or someone else? He doubted the impatient teen he had just met would’ve advised his great uncle to read one of the most complicated books in literature. Was it another Yuuri he had confused Yuuri with?

“What are you all giggly about.”

The teen in question had returned with two cups of coffee and a plate of cat-shaped biscuits. Yuuri froze, feeling a bit guilty for looking through someone else’s belongings.

“These are all...my favorites.”

The statement didn’t seem to phase Yuri at all. Instead he just shrugged, putting the cups and plate down on the small table in the corner.

“They better be. The old geezer wrote all kinds of notes to ‘Yuuri’ in the margins all the time. I tried reading one of them once and couldn’t get through a page without seeing your stupid name.”

_ The rest of this scene is just going to devolve into dialogue - I apologize for the sloppiness. _

“ _ My _ name? Why my name?”

“...what do you mean? Aren’t you guys...or...don’t you know?”

“I’ve...I’ve never met him before.”

“...what?”

“Before that time in LA at the bookshop...I’d never met him or talked to him before.”

“Are you fucking serious? Not even like...your dad or an uncle?! I thought maybe you were named after the original Yuuri or something?!”

“I don’t know another Yuuri...except for you, I guess.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?!”

“I...I thought I should return this.”

Yuuri took the ring out of his pocket and held it out to Yuri, hoping he would take it. Yuri shook his head, pushing it back to him.

“He said he had gotten that thing from Yuuri Katsuki. I don’t want to keep it either.”

Yuri stared at him long and hard, as if torn as to whether or not he should tell Yuuri whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

“You should go to Colorado Springs.”

“Why?”

“I think...there’s a photo there you’re gonna want to see. At the Broadmoor World Arena.”

“What kind of photo?”

“Go or don’t go! Whatever, I don’t fucking care! The asshole is dead anyway!”

_ Yuri ends up kicking Yuuri out, confused and frustrated. Yuuri walks away from the encounter more puzzled and obsessed than ever. He can’t explain the odd yearning and connection he feels with this guy whom he’s never really met before except for that one weird encounter. He ends up going to Broadmoor, like Yuuri said, and in a section of the arena with old photos, he finds a photo of himself with Victor in the 60s, both of them looking at each other with love in their eyes (ughhh it’s so sappy it’s ridiculous!). _

_ Shocked, Yuuri thinks back on some of the books on time travel he saw on Victor’s shelf. He continues second guessing himself and thinking he’s crazy for even pursuing this, but he can’t deny that the person in the photo was him. Yuuri’s search eventually leads him to meet with Professor Minako Okukawa. She is a physicist who has played around with the idea of time travel before. She claims she has traveled back to 1780 for five minutes, but there’s no real way for her to prove her claims, so she hasn’t bothered trying to present her findings to the scientific community. Most think the books she writes are “just for fun” or “science fiction.” _

_ And now the time travel. LOL. It’s exactly as silly and uncomplicated as the movie is. Yuuri goes to an old hotel near the Broadmoor, gets clothes from the era, and just WILLS himself there. BOOM.  _

_ And we go to the 60s. Because I’m an idiot, I apparently couldn’t resist inserting some Cold War backdrop. We’re in for a totally non-realistic, ride through a made-up version of American history! I’ll be honest. I didn’t get far enough in this fic to research deeply enough A) the state of the figure skating world, and B) what the dynamics might have been like. But some research notes I did dig up: this fic does NOT take place in a world in which the 1961 Sabena disaster happened (essentially the entire US Figure Skating team was on a flight that crashed, killing all of them); this fic DOES take into account the fact that at this time, the difference between “amateur” and “professional” figures skaters was much more strict. Competitive figure skaters normally had to have other side gigs that weren’t figure skating in order to make money directly. There were some loopholes for this, but all this means is that in this AU, Victor is also a model. So there. _

_ Here’s some Victor POV right before he meets Yuuri. It’s Worlds, so lots of international skaters around, and Victor is the only skater with a clear Russian background skating for the Americans. _

“ _ With a name like that, I’m surprised the Americans let you skate for them, _ ” Georgi whispered in Russian.

Victor shrugged. “It’s a free country,” he answered in English, careful to continue smiling in front of the cameras. He glanced quickly at Georgi, and realized he hadn’t even been looking at Victor when he spoke.

Georgi’s gaze went beyond the cameras. He was looking directly at some men in suits who were off to the side, doing their best to be inconspicuous, but not bothering to hide their direct attention at Victor and Georgi.

“ _ Is it? _ ”

Victor ignored the comment and took a question from one of the reporters about his training regimen. 

Victor had seen the men before. Perhaps not these same ones, but others like them who tailed him at international events and took note of all of his interactions. He'd been told the men were there for his protection. His parents had been defectors, afterall. It was quite possible the Soviets would try to punish him for their disloyalty as a warning to others.

But all that didn't quite explain why they eyed Victor so intensely, rather than just the people around him. He wondered how many reports speculated on his own potential disloyalty. He was an international athlete who spoke Russian and often had to see Soviet athletes at the major skating events. On occasion, he even spoke with them, usually as a show of good sportsmanship and positive international relations.

That was all hogwash, of course.

Victor just wanted to skate. 

His honest disinterest in politics, however, didn't protect him from the outrageous conspiracy theories of his own nation. Yakov did his best to shield him from all that and help Victor maintain as clean an image as possible, but it wasn’t easy. Especially since Victor often had a tough time resisting doing what he wanted. 

Or who he wanted.

His escapade at last year's Worlds had earned him hours’ worth of lectures from Yakov. Not only had the athlete he'd slept with been a Soviet, but the skater had also been a man. If the press had found out, he would’ve been doubly damned. Victor was usually fairly careful. The only reason Yakov had found out was because he had a knack for tracking Victor down and knew he favored the janitorial closets furthest away from the crowds at the stadium. 

“You're lucky it's me and not one of those goddamn agents!” Yakov had shouted at the height of his tirade. “Thank god we’re in Geneva and not Colorado this year. I bet they've got the whole damn arena bugged in Colorado!”

The Soviet skater had as much interest in keeping their little activity a secret as Victor did. In a matter of minutes, the issue was quietly resolved in the closet. 

The irony wasn’t lost on Victor.

_ Little skip to the first time Victor sees Yuuri in a crowd... _

Was he a fan?

Victor was used to a handful of kids fawning over him. Extreme skating fans and teen girls screaming for a personal hello or at least a wink.

But this guy didn’t seem to fit either of those categories.

He looked at Victor like he was...like he was unreal.

The way his eyes followed Victor’s like he somehow couldn’t believe he was there. They were both shocked and admiring at the same time.

_ Sooo yeah. Yuuri somehow weasels his way into sticking around Victor and poses as a journalist. Both of them feel a strong connection to each other and can’t stop spending time together. _

__

_ And now a big skip to Yuuri and Victor talking about BOOKS. BECAUSE YUURI IS A BIG FAT NERD. As am I. First part is dialogue heavy - to keep track, the first person speaking is Yuuri. _

“As far as American authors go, I think my favorite is Vonnegut.” 

“Oh! I've heard of that one. I like him! One of the few I read a lot from. He’s interesting! He doesn't use too much complicated language but has all these complicated scenarios.” 

“Yeah, that’s true. My first Vonnegut was Breakfast of Champions, and the timeline threw me off completely, though I think maybe I was too young to understand it when I read it the first time.”

“I don't think I've heard of that one. Is it new?” 

Yuuri gulped. Shit. When had that one been published? Was it the late 60s or early 70s? The thought made him sick to his stomach, as if something was pulling him apart. His vision blurred as he lost feeling in his hands.

“Yuuri, are you ok?”

Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hands, the warmth steadying him.

“You’re sweating. And you got so pale all of a sudden!” 

As his vision refocused, the sight of Victor’s blue, searching eyes grounded him. Air filled his lungs again as his body recentered itself.

“Just got a little dizzy. I’m ok.”

_ Sooo yeah. This also works like the movie. Essentially thinking too much about your own timeline pulls you out of the era you’re in. LOL. More book talk (Victor talks first): _

“What book have you reread the most.”

“Hmmm...probably...Ulysses. By James Joyce. I don't even know if I like it, but I've read it 5 times.”

“How can you read something so many times when you don’t even know if you like it?”

“It’s...kind of hard to grasp. Maybe I’m just too stupid to appreciate it.”

“I doubt that.”

Yuuri’s face heated up as he felt Victor’s gaze on him. He couldn’t imagine why, but for some reason, Victor seemed to think a lot of him. How was that even possible? Where had this wonder come from? Wasn’t Victor a famous model? An amazing figure skater? Hadn’t he seen and known things Yuuri had only been dreaming of? 

“You've been to so many places,” Yuuri said softly, changing the subject. “I guess you've seen a lot of the world, huh?”

Victor hummed and shrugged.

“Not really. I guess some skaters do that, but usually when I go to competitions, I compete and leave.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing...I just...if it were me, I'd want to see as much as possible. Maybe it's because I like reading and writing. I read about places oceans away all the time. Someday I want to see them myself and then maybe I can write about what I see and share it with other people.”

“I guess I never thought of the world that way.”

“What way?”

“As something I needed to discover. I tend to just think about what's in front of me.”

_ Yeeahhh. They continue getting lovey dovey with every new discussion. There’s also a lot of self-discovery here, as Victor realizes there’s a life beyond skating and Yuuri realizes maybe there’s more to himself than he’s ever given himself credit for. Before the final skate, the two have some drinks and make plans to travel together after the competition is over. One thing leads to another, they get intimate, and life seems really fucking great. _

_ And then of course it’s not. Because the agents that have been tailing Victor become convinced that he AND Yuuri are spies because they’ve been meeting up so frequently and they have no record of Yuuri existing anywhere. The agents try to take them in for questioning, Yuuri resists. The agents end up breaking Victor's leg, effectively ruining his chance at competition. Somehow or other (I never figured out this part), things settle down. Maybe Yakov miraculously comes to the rescue, I DON’T KNOW, and they end up de-compressing in a hotel room. Yuuri pulls out something in his pocket that reminds him too strongly that he’s not from this time period, and he gets pulled out, leaving Victor behind. And now this…. _

Yuuri paled at the sight of the worn floral wallpaper and the bare lightbulb hanging above him.

He was back.

He had left Victor alone.

Professor Okukawa had been right. He was weak. His muscles ached and his brain couldn’t focus on a single thought.

But he had to go back. He just had to.

He lay back down on the bed again, focusing on everything he’d just seen. The hotel room. The clothes. Victor.

He cycled through these thoughts again and again and again.

That nagging feeling he’d set aside before making his time travel attempts returned with a vengeance. At the bookshop, Victor said he’d been waiting for Yuuri for 50 years. It meant Yuuri had never found his way back. 

And now Victor was gone.

Not just gone.

Dead.

Victor had spent decades searching for Yuuri. He had researched hundreds of books and travelled all over the world. And when he had finally found Yuuri, Yuuri broke his heart by not recognizing him at all. Victor had died that same day.

The realization tore through him, filling his chest and stomach with lead. 

He’d killed him.

_ Ugh. Poor Yuuri. He agonizes over the loss. The physical toll from the time travel is also too much. Phichit and Celestino find him near-death in the hotel room near the Broadmoor, and eventually Yuuri passes out, too weak to maintain consciousness. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE...AND BY MORE I MEAN A SAPPY REUNION AND MESSY DIALOGUE. _

When his vision cleared, Yuuri had to pinch himself to believe what he was seeing. 

It was Victor. The Victor he had just parted with in 1969. His Victor. But he was wearing the same suit that the older Victor had worn in the bookshop in LA. Now he looked positively dashing in it, a blue rose boutonniere sticking out of his lapel and a handsome blue tie to match. He really did wear suits well, no matter his age. He stood tall, beaming and waving like a mad man.

“Yuuri!”

“Victor!” Yuuri cried, running to Victor and falling into his open arms. When they collided, suddenly Yuuri felt like he would melt. 

Victor was here. Warm and loving. Holding Yuuri tightly against his chest and breathing in his scent. 

“God, I missed this smell,” Victor sighed, burying his nose into Yuuri's shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Yuuri sobbed, tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. “I didn't want to leave you like that.”

“I know,” he whispered gently. “I know you didn't.”

“I killed you.”

Victor blinked, stunned. He frowned and sighed in frustration.

“Yuuri…” he groaned into his shoulder. “You didn’t kill me. Hypertension and a family history of heart disease killed me. I was lucky to make it to 75. We just have terrible timing.”

Yuuri laughed through his tears, pulling his lover closer to him. Tighter. Anything to keep them together, wherever they were.

“I can’t believe you actually read Ulysses!” he laughed, his mind a rush of thoughts of things he wanted to tell him.

“Yuuri, as someone who’s read that damned book 10 times, I can say for certain that it makes absolutely no sense.”

“You read it 10 times?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to prove you weren’t stupid.”

_ They talk and laugh and hold each other a little while longer, and then (Victor speaks first): _

“Yuuri… you have to go back now.”

“What?”

“You're still so young. You've got a lot of life to live.”

“Without you?”

“I'll be waiting here. I waited a lifetime for you. I can wait another. There are people waiting for you. I missed you. Terribly. Searching for you was hard. But while I was doing it, I got to experience so many new things. I went all the way to Japan, for God’s sake. I’ve probably spent more time in Kyushu than you have. I traveled the world. Met a lot of interesting people. Read lots of crazy books. I got to live. I want you to live, too. When you come back, we can compare notes. Be sure to experience lots for me, ok?”

_ Yeeahh I deviated from the movie big time here. I’m a big believer in true love stories, in which you can still honor the love of your life, but live without them. So Yuuri is upset, but he accepts it. He can’t leave his family behind like this! I can't do that to Hiroko! Anyway, one last dialogue snippet before this insanely sappy scene ends (Victor speaks first): _

“Hey Yuuri - do me a favor?”

“Keep an eye on Yuri for me. He’s more sensitive than he looks. I don’t want him to be lonely. He was mostly raised by his grandpa, my sister’s husband, and then his grandpa died and he moved in with me. He basically got shuffled from one old man to another, and then both died on him.”

_ SO yeah! Victor entrusts Yuuri as Yuri’s new proxy family! Yuuri wakes up, returns to his life, and lives it out with Victor always in his heart. But I’m the biggest sap of them all, so of course it ends like this: _

_ Los Angeles Times Obituary: _

Beloved Japanese-American author Yuuri Katsuki passed away on the evening of December 25, 2061.

He is survived by his sister, Mari, as well as his beloved poodle, Victor.

Family friend and former Olympian Yuri Plisetsky and his husband Otabek Altin hosted a small, intimate wake with family and friends…

READ MORE…

\---

When Yuuri opened his eyes, he had returned to the white space. Before him stood Victor just as he had left him so many decades ago, still wearing the same suit and smile, but at the age Yuuri had met him the first time. Here, however, he had no need for a cane. He stood tall, his gait proud and elegant.

“Seems like I didn’t have to wait as long for you as you did for me,” Yuuri chuckled, slowly making his way over.

Yuuri looked down at his own wrinkled hands - he was just as he had been when he had fallen asleep in the car. Now, however, his body had an odd lightness. It took almost no effort for him to raise his arms or move his legs. No creaky joints or aching muscles. Just his consciousness and visualization, floating in the white abyss as he perceived his lover walking towards him.

He hummed, surprised but not unhappy. He walked over to Victor as well, easygoing and comfortable. Not at all alarmed by the sudden turn of events. “I wasn’t quite expecting things to go that way, but I can’t really argue with the results.”

They met in the middle, Yuuri leaning his head on Victor’s shoulder as their arms wrapped around each other slowly, as if they had been embracing each other everyday like this for the past few decades.

“How was it?” Victor whispered, nuzzling his head in Yuuri’s hair and smelling him just as he had the last time Yuuri had been here. Yuuri revelled in the sigh that escaped from Victor’s mouth and couldn’t help but smile.

“Not bad,” he replied, his arms tightening around Victor’s waist.

Victor sputtered in response, pulling away from the embrace just a bit to eye Yuuri and scoff.

“Not bad? That’s all?!” he whined. “You’re a writer! Tell me a story!”

Yuuri’s heart warmed just seeing that pout stretch across Victor’s older features. It was somehow just as charming and amusing as it had been on his 25-year-old face. 

“Yuuri!”

“All right, all right! But first I have something more important to tell you?”

_  
_ “What?”

“I love you.”

Victor froze, then blushed, the realization slowly dawning on him. It was the first time Yuuri had ever told him that. He hadn’t had the chance the last two times they had met. 

“Love you too,” he said, his voice cracking as tears finally started to stream down his cheeks.

When the tears stopped, Victor stepped away a little, taking Yuuri’s hand into his and squeezing it tightly. Yuuri squeezed it back, delighting in the feel of it, something he had only been imagining in the years that passed.

And now the years they were apart would be nothing.

They walked deeper into the space, neither of them thinking of where they were going, neither of them needing to know.

Their world was complete. Their story had just begun.


	3. Get You Wild Make You Leave 1 - Dancing in My Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his father suffers from a dangerous heart attack, Yuuri decides to hang up his skates and fly back to Hasetsu to help out his family. When Victor Nikiforov offers to fly out to Hasetsu to coach him, Yuuri thinks his luck has taken a turn for the best until the two start spending time together. After months of suffering through hardcore training sessions with a coach he thinks is vain and fake, Yuuri finds himself at the end of his rope, hating the man he's hopelessly attracted to. It's not until one surprising night that Yuuri starts to discover the vulnerable, heartbroken man he may have been ignoring all along.
> 
> OR
> 
> Enemies to lovers! A world where Yuuri was NOT a Victor fanboy at first! Fuck first, talk later!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer - this fic idea was not mine to start with. [mnad96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnad96/pseuds/mnad96) related it to me and gave me the go ahead to write it if I ever found the time. I didn’t think I’d fit it into my writing queue, but my brain kept coming up with ideas and fitting dialogue. Before I knew it, I had a whole outline and chapter written. So here we are. 
> 
> mnad96 ALSO beta'd this chapter many moons ago, and for this I am extremely thankful! I may or may not have worked on it more afterwards, so any mistakes/funny business are all my own.

Yuuri squinted as JJ’s score flashed across the screen.

190.11

Yuuri’s own free skate had been a personal best for him. It had topped this score. He should’ve still been excited. But instead his chest was hit by the searing pang of disappointment. His combined score was .03 points below JJ’s. He and his coach already knew that wasn’t enough to make it on the podium, especially since Victor Nikiforov and Chris Giacometti still had yet to skate. 

He was vaguely aware that Celestino was patting his shoulder, telling him he’d done well - that he still had a chance to get a place for Four Continents and Worlds if he had a good showing at Nationals. The free skate had gone beautifully. They just needed to work on his jumps again and tighten up some of the shaky portions of his short program. The encouraging words only made him feel guilty and reminded him he still had some terrible news to break to his coach. He buried his face in his hands to still his tears as the roar from the crowd took over.

That was the last competitive skate of his career.

Yuuri Katsuki was retiring.

Not that anyone else aside from Celestino and Phichit would care.

Yuuri wandered through the rest of the competition dazed. He couldn’t even remember the rest of the skaters’ performances, too distracted by his own impending announcement. At some point he had gotten out of his skate clothes and into his usual blue sweats. Before he knew it, he was sitting in a bathroom stall with his phone in hand, shaking as he hit the call button.

“Hey Mom…” he said, trying to maintain some semblance of cheerfulness. “How’s Dad doing...is he all right? What did the doctor say?”

He listened patiently as his mother’s gentle voice explained that his father had just been released from the surgical unit and was resting. The doctor said he’d be fine. It was a shocking heart attack, but the surgery had been successful. The man just needed to take better care of himself. After a few weeks or so of rest, he might be able to start working again. She was doing her best to sound reassuring, but Yuuri knew his mother better. The usual bounce in her voice was missing. She kept saying over and over again that Yuuri had nothing to worry about. He could be proud of his performance and keep studying and training like usual. Things would be fine at Yuu-topia without him.

But fine wasn’t enough.

“It’s ok, Mom. I’ve already decided. I’m...I’m coming back to Hasetsu. I’m getting kind of old for skating anyway. Maybe it’s time I find something else a little closer to home. I want to be there for you guys…”

He could hear the heaviness of his mother’s sigh over the phone.

“Yuuri...you know we’d love to have you home. But we also want you to find your own path. Mari is here. We can hire someone else to help out while Dad recovers. It’ll be fine.”

Yuuri shook his head. He already knew they couldn’t afford to hire someone else. He knew the family business was, at best, unstable. At worst...

“I’ll call again after I tell Celestino I’m retiring. See you soon.”

He hung up before his mother could protest.

His hand was still shaking. He could feel himself on the brink of tears. He wanted to break. 

But…

He had already decided yesterday that this wasn’t how it was going to go. He wanted to face his family with his head held high. He couldn’t give in to the usual torment and nerves. Not this time. 

He still needed to release the tension somehow, if not through tears, than through something else. He’d read some stupid article once about battle cries releasing some kind of testosterone or whatever to pump yourself up and get rid of stress. It’d be embarrassing, but no one else was in the bathroom anyway.

He stood up, sucked in a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-”

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

He stopped immediately, not expecting to hear someone else in the bathroom. Without thinking, he opened the stall door only to find an astonished Yuri Plisetsky, the junior Grand Prix champion. When the teen met Yuuri’s eye, he straightened out, doing his best to make himself seem taller. 

“Your-” the young teen seemed frustrated, struggling to get the rest of the sentence out. “Your free skate...didn’t suck.”

“Oh...thanks?”

Was he here...to compliment him? Had he been looking for him? Oh god. Apparently the tribal yell was too weird to even address.

“So what the hell happened with the short program?!”

Yuuri hesitated, surprised. The teen had gotten straight to the point. Yuuri didn’t particularly owe this kid any kind of explanation. The reason was personal and no one else’s business.

“I had just found out my dad was in the hospital...I was upset,” he heard himself say involuntarily. Something about the teen’s determination had spurred him to answer. He bit his lip, stunned that he’d said anything at all.

"Oh..."

The young skater's expression softened as his eyes dropped to the floor. He seemed pained, perhaps even a little sympathetic. It was oddly endearing.

"Then...how did you pull off the free skate? That step sequence...it was...it was flawless..." he said, his voice much quieter than before.

Yuuri had the urge to pat him on the head, though he was sure that wouldn't have been well received by the proud teenager. He wasn't just being nosey or trying to get into his head. He was honestly curious, possibly even a little concerned, for some reason. In spite of himself, in spite of the fact that Yuuri usually didn't reveal these things to just anyone, he decided to throw the kid another bone.

"It was my final skate. I was more determined. I'm retiring after this and moving back to Japan to help out my family."

Yuri's eyes widened as he looked back up. Yuuri's words had shocked him into silence.

"Well...congratulations on winning the junior division." Yuuri waved, unsure of what to do next. He walked out of the stall and backed towards the door. He had never been very good at playing the "confident role model." He tried putting on the weird, encouraging smile they'd instructed him to use in a commercial he'd done once for a kid's cereal. "I'm sure you'll do great in the senior division next year."

Yuuri turned and was about to leave when the young Russian kicked one of the stall barriers. The sudden noise made Yuuri jump and turn back around immediately.

"If it were me," he said slowly, regaining the sureness and edge he had when he had first approached Yuuri, "I'd do anything to keep skating."

Was that...a challenge? Or encouragement?

"It's...it's not that simple. I can't ask my coach to move with me to Hasetsu. He's already decided to go back and forth between Detroit and Thailand for another rinkmate next year. I can't just-"

"Then find another coach!"

Yuuri was confused. Why was he trying to explain himself to this kid? And why was this kid so concerned? On his part, he couldn't help it. Yuuri felt like he had to meet this skater's expectations, one way or another.

"It's not that easy to find a top tier coach who's willing to move out to the middle of nowhere just to train you, especially when you haven't won any serious competitions."

The teen slammed the stall barrier again, this time with a fist. He gritted his teeth, the force of the punch leaving behind an obvious red mark on his pale skin. 

"I'm making my senior debut next year, and I'll be damned if I make it to the top of the podium just because you and Nikiforov are retiring!” 

He walked towards Yuuri and shoved him with his shoulder.

“Just figure it out, idiot!"

The angry teen stormed out of the bathroom before Yuuri could say another word.

He'd never felt so flattered and insulted at the same time. For some reason, Yuri Plisetsky had put him in the same category as Victor Nikiforov, the world's best figure skater. He had no idea where the comparison had come from, but he couldn't deny feeling a twinge of satisfaction. On the other hand, the teen had made the selfish demand that Yuuri keep competing just for the sake of proving himself the better skater. Teenagers were so confusing.

Also, Nikiforov was retiring? That was news to Yuuri. He supposed the man was the oldest skater competing at this level, but he was still on top. He'd just won the GP Final, after all, with a record breaking free skate. He'd been on top of the skating world for years, now. Where was this retirement thing coming from?

He shrugged the idea off. He had other things to worry about, like finding Celestino and breaking the news of his retirement.

Victor Nikiforov had nothing to do with him.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victor Nikiforov was dead.

At least that’s what it felt like. 

When he had made the decision to retire, he thought something would change. Maybe he’d gain some kind of perspective or have some moment of clarity as he went into his final season of competing, but so far, nothing. This season felt the same as the last few had. He hadn't made a public announcement yet, but somehow he doubted it would change much. Competing brought him no joy anymore, and the only solution he could find was to move on.

But to what?

He had some options. Several people had already approached him to plan and perform some travelling ice shows, but that didn’t really fix his issues with competing. He was tired of laying himself out there on the ice and forcing smiles for strangers who didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. Simultaneously, he didn’t know how to stop. After years of being on top, he’d developed a strange, charming persona that had become something of a stranger to himself. It’s possible he’d actually been like that at one point in his career, but after Makkachin…

Well.

A lot of things didn’t feel the same anymore. But all the while, he had to skate and perform like they were. And every wretched smile he had to wear didn’t get any better, no matter how many times he tried to skate his feelings out on the ice. The thrill of the crowds cheering had disappeared long ago.

So doing ice shows was out.

He could imagine being a choreographer. It’d be easier to take some time to lay low and stretch out his artistic muscles without straining his cheek muscles. But would it provide the same mental challenge that competing used to be able to do?

And then there was coaching.

Coaching was interesting in its own way. He’d still sort of be competing, but without the emphasis on himself. He’d have to focus all of his energy into someone else, trying to draw something out of them. Investing in someone else wasn’t something he’d done in a while. Maybe it was time to change that.

When he had brought it up with Yakov, however, the man was dumbstruck.

“You? Coach? Don’t be so ridiculous. You can’t even see beyond your own skates.”

Not entirely untrue, he had to admit, but the comment hurt, nonetheless. 

Yakov got him to agree not to retire until after Worlds, but he had insisted on making the official announcement after the Grand Prix. It would lock the decision in before Yakov could try to convince him to skate another season. He supposed his mind wouldn't have been changed anyway, but he was tired of the nagging. Yakov meant well, but he seemed to think Victor would find all his answers on the ice. Victor had also thought that once, but like most religions, the ideology fell apart in the light of reality.

It was probably a bit spoiled and privileged to think so, but why compete when he had so many gold medals already? 

He was starting to wonder why he even woke up in the morning.

On the day of the free skate for the Grand Prix final, he barely got out of bed at all. Yakov sent Yuri Plisetsky to almost knock down his hotel room door to make sure he got to the rink on time. He wandered through the morning, allowing Yakov to get him from A to B as he flashed the occasional smile and cheerfully addressed questions from the press with vague answers. The tension and anticipation of competition had gotten stale. He missed the adrenaline rush of wondering how his own performance would go, or what the other skaters would do.

He stretched and readied himself for the free skate, more so out of habit than earnest preparation. He could hear the cheers from the crowd as the performing skater made his way on the ice. Victor usually didn’t watch other skaters’ routines when he was on deck to perform, but this was his last Grand Prix Final, and he was bored. It was time to break his own routine. 

Victor left the staging area and went out to the rinkside. His eyes drifted to the ice as they searched for the skater who was up. It was the cute Japanese skater. Yuuri...something. He only remembered his first name because of a particular, very loud, and very angry rinkmate with the same name. Yuuri was the second to perform. He hadn’t done well in the short program, that much was obvious. In general, Victor didn't recall standing with Yuuri on the podium at all in the entirety of his career. So what would Yuuri whatever-his-last-name-was bring to the ice today? Another mediocre performance? It seemed this wouldn't be worth taking a break from stretching after all.

When the crowd quieted, the music began. A somber, slow introduction by an orchestra. Barber’s Adagio for Strings.

Typical. 

Or so he thought. 

Yuuri’s arms slowly opened up with his legs as he stretched his body out in time with the mournful sounds of the violins as they played the main theme. His face took on a tragic, dark expression as he moved with the music and went into his first spin. He turned out of it gracefully, his arms stretching out, reaching for something that wasn’t there. And yet Victor somehow knew, all the same that Yuuri was reaching out for something.

Something strange and beautiful was happening.

Victor couldn’t look away.

The jumps were mostly successful, but not overly ambitious. Victor winced when Yuuri touched down on the quad salchow, though he had managed to recover. 

Victor found himself holding his breath with every take off and landing. He made some mental notes on areas where the skater needed to tighten up his arms or where the landings should have been smoother. But Yuuri's footwork. His expressions. None of Victor's analysis could even begin to approach those.

Every glide Yuuri made across the ice, the pain and anguish he expressed, appeared so raw and genuine. Victor had seen few skaters access and transmit emotion into their skating so well.

His final step sequence was totally mad and relentlessly captivating. The way his back arched as his skates carved the ice...it was like watching an artist speed sculpt a masterpiece out of a plain boulder. It had been a long time since Victor had seen something so enthralling. He looked at one of the screens showing close-up footage as the sequence came to a close. Yuuri was looking over his shoulder, as if he saw something far off in the distance. But rather than follow the target, he faced forward once more, skating away from it and entering a camel spin.

It felt like the entire performance was a farewell. But to what?

As Yuuri turned out of his final spin, he skated the length of the rink with the diminishing music and lowered his body to the floor, circling the center slowly until the music faded out. He remained still, as if nothing could break his contact with the ice. 

The crowd’s roaring approval broke the spell. Yuuri lost his balance and slipped a bit on the ice as he stood up. His entire demeanour changed. The somber, entranced artist was replaced by a shy, smiling man who could only manage a half-wave to the audience before skating to the rinkside and meeting his coach for the Kiss and Cry.

Victor was beyond himself.

Why had he never noticed this skater before?

He looked at the announcement board, his heart still as the judges tallied the score. When the score flashed across the screen he exhaled. A great score and well-deserved. But then he noticed Yuuri's combined score underneath. 

Shit.

He must have really messed up the short program.

Victor's eyes desperately searched the boards again for Yuuri's full name. He chided himself for his usual forgetfulness when it came to anything outside of his own bubble. He felt relief when he saw the print in tiny letters on a screen showing the current standings.

Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki from Japan.

He'd have to remember that and look up his short program later.

He hardly noticed when it was his turn to skate. His mind was consumed with ideas and ways Yuuri needed to improve his jumps. He had only seen two quads in the routine. Probably he and his coach limited them because of his execution issues. Who was his coach anyway? Yet another thing he’d have to look up.

As Victor got on the ice and centered himself in the mindset for his routine….he failed. He could only obsess over the technical aspects of it, thinking about the way he executed jumps and how he could demonstrate and transfer that knowledge to Yuuri. He had a tendency to act and skate on instinct, the movements a reflex for him. He had never had to think about skating like this. He’d never thought about sharing it like this. When he had his arms folded above his head in his final pose, the crowd’s roar fell on deaf ears. He waved and smiled, the action automatic, and mindlessly went to the Kiss and Cry to sit with Yakov. 

He wanted to talk with this guy. He had to see what kind of person he was. As his thoughts continued to churn, Yakov squeezed his shoulder to catch his attention. He perked up to look at the screens. 

Ah.

Apparently he had broken his own world record. He supposed that meant he had won.

He sent a few more smiles in the direction of the crowd, waving and trying to appear elated. But his mind was elsewhere entirely.

As soon as he got to the changing area, he pulled out his phone and started doing his research. 

Yuuri Katsuki from Hasetsu, Japan. 23. 

Older than he had thought, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Victor was 27, after all, and just retiring now. As he changed, he couldn't stop reading up on Yuuri. Contrary to his usual meticulous routine, he stuffed his gear and costume haphazardly into his gear bag, rushing out to see if he’d find Yuuri around and get a chance to talk with the man himself.

As he made his way into the halls in search of Yuuri Katsuki, he found a very grumpy looking Yuri Plisetsky repeatedly kicking a wall. He was used to seeing the teen fume around the rink and take out his frustrations on objects and rinkmates alike, but he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of sadness mixed in with the anger.

“What did the wall do this time?” he quipped, flashing the teen a teasing smile.

“Shut up, asshole,” he shouted, stopping his kicking frenzy and looking away from Victor, apparently trying to hide his face with his hood.

Victor hummed, a bit more curious now. “You know, if you’re not careful, you might actually damage your foot with your flying anger kicks someday.”

“Like I need career advice from a shithead like you!”

Yuri was practically growling at this point, gnashing his teeth. He picked up his gear bag and started making his way towards the exit.

“Shithead retirees like you and Katsuki can just piss off and keep your dumb opinions to yourselves!” he muttered under his breath, not really directing his comment at Victor at all.

But Victor had heard the comment nonetheless. He grabbed Yuri by the shoulder more forcefully than he meant.

“What did you say...about a Katsuki? Yuuri Katsuki you mean? He’s retiring?”

Yuri stiffened a bit, appearing to realize something, then roughly shrugged Victor’s hand off of his shoulder.

“None of your business! Leave me alone!” 

He stormed off before Victor could ask more questions.

This wasn’t right. Maybe Yuri had heard some gossip, or maybe Victor had heard him incorrectly? His eyes darted around the arena. Perhaps Yuuri hadn’t left yet and was still hanging around somewhere. He at least wanted to know why the man was retiring, especially after a performance like that. He had so much room to grow and improve - it wasn’t his time yet. His rushed pace turned into a run when he saw the ponytail of the next best person to find. He called out before his mind could catch up with him.

“Hello! Coach…” 

Shit shit shit.

He had just seen the man’s full name when he’d looked up Yuuri’s profile and he’d already forgotten it. He’d have to lead with just first names instead. “Celestino! Coach Celestino, how are you!”

The man stopped in his tracks and turned to address Victor, apparently on the way out himself. 

“Oh, Victor. Congratulations on the world record and the win today,” he said, a bit wary as he stuck out his hand, surprised that Victor had practically sprinted to catch him at the door. They had seen each other around before and most likely shaken hands at competitions in the past, but neither had ever taken the time to greet each other one-on-one like this. 

“Thank you, thank you!” he said, taking Celestino’s congratulatory handshake a bit too enthusiastically. “So….you’re Yuuri Katsuki’s coach, right?”

The italian man tilted his head to the side as he took his hand back. 

“Yes...well…” he said, a little unsure. Victor didn’t know the coach very well, but he’d seen him wave his arms around enthusiastically while bucking up his students’ confidence on the rinkside many times before. Uncertainty didn’t suit him. Victor wondered if it was because of the news he had just learned.

“I hear Yuuri is retiring after this season.”

Celestino’s eyes widened in shock. Apparently this wasn’t supposed to be widely known. Victor wondered silently how his young rinkmate had found out about it at all. 

His brain was doing somersaults, half of him trying to formulate some kind of plan for what to do, and the other half running ahead with a million questions, but he kept smiling for Celestino, friendly and easygoing as ever.

“I just had a few questions about his plans for the future, if you don’t mind…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri groaned as he tightened his only nice tie. He couldn’t believe he was still going to this thing. He had no need for sponsors anymore, so why was Celestino insisting that he come? He hated events like the banquet. It was an event full of a weird mix of athletes, coaches, ISU officials, and people with money. He was terrible when it came to wining and dining people, usually depending on Celestino to help him get through conversations. He shook his head at himself, realizing that this time, he at least owed Celestino his presence.

He felt guilty telling his long-time coach about his retirement right after what looked like a successful performance. The man had been disappointed, but after hearing Yuuri explain his family’s situation, he shook his head and couldn’t offer any easy solutions. He couldn’t support Yuuri in Hasetsu after he had promised Phichit to travel back and forth from the States to Thailand for a year. He offered to ask around to find another suitable coach, but even the ever-optimistic Celestino had to know that no one would want to move out to the middle-of-nowhere just to coach a mediocre skater. 

Yuuri had left Celestino behind at the arena, going ahead to the hotel to crash. He had woken up the next morning to find his phone ringing and Celestino’s name flashing across the screen. He had picked up, resignedly, only to hear his former coach sounding oddly enthusiastic, insisting that Yuuri come to the banquet and dress well. He’d said over the phone that he’d explain everything in person, that there was someone he needed to talk to.

Yuuri couldn’t imagine who. One last commercial deal or something?

He met Celestino in the hallway leading up to the banquet hall as they had agreed. Celestino had been waiting for him, tapping his foot in that impatient way he tended to do when he was excited about something.

“Yuuri! My boy! I have some news for you! You’ll never guess who asked me about you yesterday!”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. Who would ask about him in the first place?

“Victor Nikiforov! He found out about your retirement somehow. Did you tell him? Are you guys friends or something?”

Yuuri was absolutely shocked. How had Victor Nikiforov found out that he was retiring when he had just told his coach the same day? Then he remembered that Victor had a very angry, young rinkmate. He sighed. In the end it wasn’t a big deal, anyway. Who really cared?

“He...this is a crazy idea. Even I think it’s crazy. But it might be your best option, so I told him I’d pitch it to you.”

“Uhm...ok…what is it?” Yuuri said carefully, not really understanding what was going on.

“He offered to be your coach.”

What?

Yuuri had stopped processing completely.

“Not just that. I told him about the situation with your family, sorry about that actually...probably should have asked you first.” At this point Celestino was babbling, incredulous at everything that came out of his own mouth. “Anyway, he offered to move to Hasetsu and coach you. He was planning on retiring after this season anyway and now he wants to be your coach! He doesn’t have any experience, but I don’t know if you’re going to find a better-Yuuri! Are you even listening?”

He was. Mostly. He was pinching his own leg to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

This was insane. The world’s best figure skater, who was retiring for some reason, suddenly heard about Yuuri’s retirement from a rinkmate and spontaneously decided to coach someone he had never met before?

“Yuuri, focus!” Celestino said, taking Yuuri by the shoulders like he usually did for pep talks. “This is an opportunity. It’s not the most ideal situation, but this might be the only way for you to get a coach for next season. You’re not done yet. I know you’re not. So why not at least hear the guy out?”

Yuuri only nodded, still speechless. 

Celestino dragged him by the arm into the banquet hall and through the crowd of people to grab a few drinks.

“He said he’d be here, ready to talk if you were up for it. When we see him, we can talk with him together. I'll be with you the whole time, ok?”

Victor was easy to find, but difficult to get to. People were swarming him to congratulate him on his win and ask him what he planned to do after retiring. He'd apparently made the announcement at a press conference that morning. 

“We'll get to him later,” Celestino said, seeing Victor greet a pair of ISU officials. “Or better yet, we schedule a meeting just for the three of us. That way you have more time to think about it and see what the other options are.”

Other options? What other options?

Yuuri downed the champagne glass in his hand and grabbed another from a passing waiter.

“Yup. Sounds good.”

As the evening carried on, Celestino ended up having to veer Yuuri away from the drinks table after he was 5 glasses in. Yuuri had a habit of not being able to stop once he got rolling, and Celestino needed him in decent condition in case Victor had a spare minute to talk.

But Yuuri couldn't help it. The nerves were killing him, and he didn't even have a clue why Victor was interested in him at all. He needed something to take the edge off. Anything to shorten the already torturous evening. The alcohol he'd already imbibed helped to soften his awareness, but did nothing for his confusion. 

“Yuuri,” Celestino sighed, sitting him down at an empty table. “You're going to be the death of me. Just relax here for a bit. I'm getting you some water.”

Yuuri nodded, doing his best to hold in a hiccup as Celestino rushed off.

God, he was such a disaster. Celestino had been nothing but helpful and encouraging all night long, and Yuuri was already blowing it just because he was nervous about talking to-

“Yuuri!”

Oh shit.

The man who had called his name and was barrelling his way over towards Yuuri was none other than Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri squirmed, his eyes desperately searching for Celestino. He was in no state to have an important discussion about his future with the Living Legend Victor Nikiforov, alone. It seemed he was yet another step closer to ruining something that hadn't even begun.

When Victor made it to the table, he took the chair closest to Yuuri, sat down, and held out his hand. 

“I'm Victor. I think your coach has told you about me?” 

Yuuri tilted his head, confused. The way he'd introduced himself seemed like he was pretending he was just some nameless face in the crowd. He was probably the only one here who needed no introduction.

“Uhm. Yeah. Basically,” Yuuri said, flushing as he shook Victor's hand.

As Victor settled into his seat and signalled at a waiter to bring over whatever he was serving, Yuuri took the chance to really look at the man.

He was…

Stunning.

His tailored suit. His posture. The way his hair fell on his face just so. Probably the most devastating were his eyes. Yuuri had never seen him up close like this before. Of course, he’d always thought the man was attractive. Who didn’t? Yuuri wasn’t starstruck, per se, but being in the same breathing space as a man who was usually on the cover of skating and fashion magazines alike felt like a different level of existence. This man was beauty and charm incarnate. 

And yet there was something about his smile…

Yuuri couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something off about Victor Nikiforov’s smile. Maybe he was a little starstruck afterall. Not to mention, inexorably, drunk.

“So,” he said, taking a sip from the wine he had just procured and leaning towards Yuuri with a coy look in his eye. “How did you get into skating?”

God. The man had asked a perfectly normal question, but the way he had said it made Yuuri feel more like he was on a date rather than a meeting with his potential new coach. That was a thousand times worse. The few dates Yuuri  _ had  _ been on were set ups by Phichit and had all gone the same way: awkwardly disappointing.

When Yuuri’s awareness returned, Victor was looking at him expectantly, smiling but waiting. Crap. He hadn't answered the question yet. 

“Ahhhh...my ballet instructor. She got me into it, more or less.”

Victor asked more, perfectly normal and reasonable questions that Yuuri struggled to answer. Why was this so hard? Yuuri had done interviews and the like before, but somehow the effervescent charm of the man sitting next to him was more overwhelming than a crowd of journalists vying for attention. Every wink and grin was dizzying. Why in the world had Yuuri decided to drink alcohol tonight?

“I watched your short program from the other day,” Victor said, cutting off Yuuri’s stumbling answer about his practice habits.

Oh.

“And your Skate America performances last year.”

Those were extra bad.

“And your first time at Four Continents.”

Dear lord. Help.

“Tell me, Yuuri,” Victor leaned in closer, his eyes level with Yuuri’s and his chin tucked in his hand with his elbow on the table. “Why do you think you’re so inconsistent?”

Yuuri stiffened and gritted his teeth as he stared into those watchful eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had heard that question, but it was definitely the first time someone had posed it to him a mere 10 centimeters away from his face. Those were the most humiliating performances of his career, and Victor Nikiforov had watched each one and was now asking Yuuri about them with the most patronizing grin on his face.

Or Yuuri could have just been overthinking it. Victor was probably just trying to be polite. Yuuri was in way over his head.

“I...I have some issues...shutting things out, I guess.”

“What things, for instance?”

Things he should have probably told a therapist instead.

“Ahh...just...the usual stuff. Performance anxiety…”

Victor pursed his lips in thought, not moving even a little further away from Yuuri's comfort zone. His eyes searched Yuuri's face, as if he was looking for a different answer. Was he trying to size Yuuri up? All the while, Yuuri couldn't help but stare at his mouth. How did this man get his lips so pink and soft-looking? He fought the odd urge to touch them.

“I see,” Victor sighed, finally pulling away just a bit, sounding disappointed. Not an unusual reaction, but Yuuri didn't understand where it came from.

Victor leaned back in his chair, his eyes not straying from Yuuri’s even for a moment. A renewed air of grace and amusement quickly chased away his previous displeasure as he thought of his next question. Yuuri found it hard to keep up with him.

“And what do you think about me being your coach?”

Finally, the important question. The only problem was, Yuuri didn’t know how to answer that one either.

“I'm… I'm not… I'm actually not sure…”

Bad answer. Or at least badly worded. He was sure there was a much more sophisticated way of saying that. He winced, wishing desperately that Celestino would magically reappear with a glass of water and some sense.

Someone a few feet away called out to Victor and waved him over. Yuuri vaguely recognized her as some representative from a major fashion brand. Most likely a big sponsor.

Victor flashed that odd, overtly charming smile again as he waved back and stood up to greet the woman.

“You can take some time to think about it,” he said, moving away from Yuuri's side. “Celestino has my number, so just give me a call and we’ll figure out the details later.”

As Victor got up to walk away, the feeling of relief that washed over him was quickly replaced by a feeling of regret. That was not how a meeting potentially defining his career should have gone. Had it been this difficult when he met Celestino? He couldn’t remember. All he could do was replay the moment they had discussed his failures. He couldn’t help but focus on that self-important grin on Victor’s face as he walked through Yuuri’s worst humiliations. In all likelihood, these were all signs that he shouldn’t continue skating at all. 

But then Yuuri remembered how he had felt when he was on the ice for his free skate. The exhilaration. The joy. The freedom. His whole career seemed to flash before his eyes, until finally his thoughts lingered on the striking determination of a very particular teenager. 

_ “If it were me, I'd do anything…” _

And here, an opportunity had dropped itself in Yuuri's lap. Why was he hesitating at all? Because of some silly discomfort from meeting a charming stranger?

Plisetsky was right. He really was an idiot. 

“Wait!”

He surprised himself with the force with which he had called after Victor. Some people in the crowd looked away from their own conversations in search of the source of the disruption. Victor stopped walking and looked over his shoulder with a nonchalant curiosity that irked Yuuri. It made him feel small, almost forcing him to keel over and give in to the part of himself that wanted to retreat and leave that uncomfortable feeling behind for good.

Plisetsky’s angry green eyes flashed in his mind again.

The very tipsy Yuuri found the need to meet that kid's expectations more pressing than his own insecurities. He stood up and marched over to Victor, stiff but certain. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed.

He held out his hand like a weapon, feeling a heat take over his body, spurred on by the confidence.

“Be my coach, Victor!”

It was clumsy and obnoxious, but at least it was to the point. Yuuri didn’t waver. 

Those clear blue eyes went from nonchalant to stunned to fascinated in a matter of seconds. Yuuri found the effect oddly satisfying. 

Victor didn't leave Yuuri hanging for long. Excited, the silver-haired Living Legend grabbed Yuuri's outstretched hand in both of his own and squeezed, almost jumping out of sheer joy.

“That’s more like it!” 

The look of elation that burned in Victor’s eyes made Yuuri’s heart jump. It was the most honest look Victor had given him all night, and it made Yuuri feel a lot more comfortable with his reckless decision. 

Maybe Yuuri had finally done something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are the only full/almost full chapters I wrote. The rest will be in fragments, like the first 2 AUs.


	4. Get You Wild Make You Leave 2 - The only love I haven't screwed up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies to Lovers AU Part 2 - Yuuri and Victor are home and have time to think. Victor says some goodbyes, and Yuuri remembers what he loves and hates about his hometown.
> 
> WARNING: Bullying in this chapter includes fat shaming and hints of homophobia. If that's not for you, stop reading at "Yuuri wasn’t really part of a lot of things, growing up."

It was Victor’s last time at this rink.

At least for a while.

He watched as the junior skaters gathered and exited the rink to make room for the senior skaters. A few of them waved at him from afar hoping to get one last pointer before the celebrity left. Almost all of his younger rinkmates tended to follow Victor around and hang on his every word. All except one in particular…

“Yuri!”

The teen grumbled and instinctively shoved his phone in his pocket and out of Victor’s sight. He had been lounging in the breakroom watching something. Victor had caught the young skater hiding in a corner and watching clips from Yuuri’s top step sequences several times, and each time the teen would deny his obvious interest.

“Aren’t you going to wish me well and give me a hug goodbye?” he whined, his arms outstretched to catch the embrace that would never come.

Yuri growled and stuck out his tongue, disgusted by the idea.

“I’m glad you’re leaving and training Katsuki. That way I can beat both of you shitheads.”

Ever since Victor had announced he was going to train Yuuri, the young skater had a new fire within him. His performances the rest of the season had become far more intense, spurring him to win the junior world championship title. He had made the bold claim that he would become the better known Yuri after his grand senior debut in the Grand Prix series, constantly pretending like the other Yuuri was a thorn in his side.

Victor knew better.

“You admire the other Yuuri, don’t you?” Victor said, leaning over towards Yuri with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Fuck no!” the teen shouted. His eyes widened as his mind reached for an alternative answer. “I’m just...I’m just checking out the competition, ok?!”

Victor laughed. He could never get enough of teasing the young russian, especially since the teen was so set on being treated like an adult. 

“But why Yuuri Katsuki? He’s 24 and he’s never medalled at a major international competition before. There are other skaters who are leagues ahead of him. Like JJ, for instance. Or Chris.”

Yuri scooched away from the table, screeching his chair across the linoleum floor and relishing in the terrible noise it made. He stood up and walked over to eye Victor, a precocious attempt to intimidate the older skater. When Victor’s smile didn't waver, the teen snarled and made his way towards the rink.

“If you think he’s such a wash,” he said before leaving, “Then why the hell are you going all the way to Japan to coach him?!”

Why indeed.

Victor had spent the last few months studying Yuuri’s previous skates, making detailed notes on his strengths and weaknesses. His actual performance record was messy, particularly when it came to his jumps. He only managed quad toe loops with a high enough success rate in competition. The rest either didn’t exist in his programs or were executed with mixed results.

But his step sequences.

His expression.

Some of the best figure skaters had only dreamed of creating that kind of emotion on the ice, Victor included. Most ended up focusing on improving technical elements instead. Jumps and spins could be improved with repetition and muscle memory. Body type made mastery more difficult for some, but in the end, a lot could be overcome with the right training.

Expression and style, on the other hand, were difficult to learn and even harder to execute. And Yuuri, when in the right mindset, already seemed to have those downpat. If he could just make that extra stride for his jumps and overcome whatever was going on in his mind, he'd be the most dangerous skater on the ice.

Yuri Plisetsky was smart enough to see that.

Victor's mission was to show that to the rest of the world.

Victor finally had a goal. Something fitting of his talent and worthy of his effort. The physical training he could handle. He had already created plans focused on Yuuri's body type, highlighting his tendencies and improving his conditioning.

Yuuri's mind would be the real challenge.

At the banquet, Victor had hoped to connect with Yuuri from the get go and really discuss what the skater needed to work on. But Yuuri hadn't wanted to talk to Victor at all. He was uncomfortable. Shy. Maybe a little drunk. Victor had dealt with fans being overwhelmed by his fame before, but usually he found a way to put them at ease. By the end of a conversation, they’d be left with the feeling that they’d known each other for years.

Yuuri resisted Victor’s every advance. Unwilling to elaborate. Never asking any questions of his own. 

It had been awhile since the Living Legend had encountered something like that, annoyed teenagers not included.

And yet somehow the conversation still ended the way Victor had hoped, with Yuuri boldly demanding that Victor be his coach. The turnaround was stunning. The man was a rollercoaster.

Victor couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

Since then, the two hadn’t seen each other, making the necessary arrangements and finalizing details over the phone and via text. Victor had hoped to catch another glimpse of the determined, audacious side of Yuuri, but Yuuri had put up his guard again, only answering when necessary with minimal detail.

Oh well.

That was something they could work on in person. Victor was sure of it.

As he gathered his things to leave, he took a final look at the rink. 

It had been his first real home.

Until it wasn't.

And finally Victor was letting it go to create another life for himself. Anything to get that feeling back again - the feeling he used to have when he was on the ice. 

Before he really left, however, there was one more person he had to say goodbye to. 

He found Yakov scolding a junior skater for attempting a quad while their body was still developing. Victor smiled, having received the lecture himself many times over when he was younger. When the young lady skittered away, Yakov turned, already aware that Victor was waiting for him.

“Vitya, I just don’t understand why your first student is  _ that _ skater.”

It seemed Yakov had already prepared another special lecture for Victor.

“Now he has you moving all the way to Japan just to train him! It’s too much!”

“He’s not having me do anything,” Victor said cheerily. “This is my choice. He’s got promise and I’ve always wanted to see more of Japan! What could go wrong?”

Victor knew he was laying the enthusiasm on a bit thick, but this was the third time he’d had this conversation with Yakov ever since he’d announced his decision to become Yuuri’s coach. Hopefully it’d be the last. He was leaving in a week. It was too late to back out now, and Victor didn’t want to. The decision to become Yuuri’s coach and leave St. Petersburg had been a spontaneous one - probably one of the most brash choices he’d ever made. But the more he thought about the way his life had been and where it was all going, the more it felt like the right choice. Really, the only choice.

But Yakov was persistent.

“He’s talented, I admit, but you don’t know him and you don’t know how to coach. Stay in St. Petersburg. Be my coaching assistant for a season and see what it’s like. Then you can reconsider this whole business.”

“You just want me to keep skating,” Victor said, cavalierly brushing off the suggestion. “I already-”

“I'm not such a fool that I would force you to compete like this.”

“Like what?” Victor asked, a silly smile spread across his face.

Yakov wasn’t amused. 

“With your eyes glazed over, colder than the ice you skate on.”

Victor’s smile hardened into a tight smirk. 

“You’re one to talk.”

_ Fuck... _

Victor regretted it as soon as he said it. He was being stubborn and baiting the man relentlessly. No matter how annoying his former coach was being, he didn’t deserve underhanded snipes. Especially not from Victor.

Luckily, Yakov knew better than to take the bait.

“Yes, I’m an unfriendly, angry old man,” he sighed, a bit rueful. “But that’s not you, Vitya.” 

Victor started, surprised to hear Yakov being so sensitive.

“You've been searching for something for years now,” the man pressed on, fervidly serious. “And you’ve been searching for it in all the wrong places. I'm afraid of what will happen if you don't find it in Japan. You're not going to a big, international city. You will be an outsider. You will be alone. I don't like it.” 

For the first time in a long time, Victor assessed his coach’s expression. The deep wrinkles in his forehead. The long frown set in his hard, squared jaw. The troubled eyes framed by dark circles that had been there for years.

Ah.

Now it made sense.

It wasn’t just about his career. Yakov was worried about Victor being so far away and out of reach. He’d been watching Victor closely for years, ever since he was twelve. He probably knew more about him than Victor suspected.

Yakov was the closest thing he had to a father. Outwardly, the coach wasn’t an affectionate man, but all his students knew he had a soft spot for each of them. If they were ever in need, he’d come running.

Perhaps Victor was being ungrateful for just taking off and making decisions on his own without really consulting the closest thing he had to family. But that was how it had been for Victor since the beginning. Yakov knew that better than anyone. And that was why Victor had to do this thing alone...whatever this thing was.

“Yakov, it’ll be fine. I’ll handle it like I always do.”

The brow-beaten, russian man could only shake his head in response.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

After that the conversation was over. Or at least Victor decided it was when he spotted Georgi weeping in a corner over his most recent lost love and waltzed away from Yakov to console him. He was pretty sure it was his turn to take care of Georgi for the hour anyway. 

Yakov’s concern had molted into frustration when Victor side-stepped yet another serious conversation about his future with a frivolous wave of his hand, so Victor was surprised when the man arrived at his apartment the day of his flight ready to take Victor to the airport.

He still didn’t approve. That much was obvious. But he’d never let his top student leave town without one last lecture and a quick hug that he’d pretend didn’t mean anything.

“There's a place for you here. Don’t forget it.”

Yakov often veiled his words of love with a stern attitude, attempting to make his wishes seem more like mandates.

“You’re the best coach I’ve ever had, Yakov,” he said, embracing the man tightly.

Yakov grunted in response, his hand patting Victor firmly on the back as usual.

“I’m the only coach you’ve ever had.”

“All the same!”

Victor released Yakov and made his way towards the security check.

“We’ll always have St. Petersburg!” he sighed and waved dramatically as he got into the line.

Yakov grimaced, though before Victor turned away, he could’ve sworn he caught a hint of a grin. He knew Casablanca was Yakov’s secret favorite.

As the sight of the familiar rooftops of St. Petersburg faded away and the plane gained altitude, Victor’s thoughts flew towards the future. For the first time in a long time, he was heading towards the unknown. That alone was enough for him to feel the tinge of excitement he’d been missing for the past few years.

A new job.

A new country.

Maybe a new home.

Who knew?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

~~~~~~~~

Yuuri let the hot water and steam soak into his bones.

It was good to be home.

Yuuri’s mother had greeted him at the door with a warm hug and a smile. She was elated that Yuuri could be home  _ and _ continue pursuing his dreams

Victor agreed to move to Hasetsu in March after Worlds, leaving Yuuri some time to help out around the inn while his father recuperated. Yuuri promised to train on his own in the meantime, though he had a feeling it’d be difficult between handling his tasks at the inn and finishing up his degree online. 

He was right.

After Victor had made his public announcement to move to Hasetsu to train Yuuri, there was an influx of visitors in the town. Though in the scheme of things, the numbers still weren’t very high, it was still a volume of tourists Hasetsu wasn’t used to. 

Aside from that, however, not much had changed in the seaside town over the years, though the population aged as young people slowly disappeared towards the promise of more jobs in larger cities.

Yuuri hadn’t changed much either.

Later that day, he still somehow found himself at Ice Castle. He hadn’t scheduled a practice for himself in the first place, but even if he never skated competitively again, he knew he’d never kick the habit of going to the rink when he had something on his mind. 

In the distance he spotted Takashi Nishigori tidying up some leftover gear in the corner. He’d become the main manager at the rink a few years ago. He was a bulky man - tough looking, but seemed warm with people close to him. 

As Yuuri made his way onto the ice, Takashi looked up from his work. He nodded, distant but friendly enough. Yuuri waved back and managed a smile. 

He’d seen Takashi around the rink quite a lot as a child, both of them drawn to it for different reasons. Takashi was part of the group of boys who loved to carve up the ice and speed skate, not caring who they bumped into in the process. Yuuri wasn’t really part of that group.

Yuuri wasn’t really part of a lot of things, growing up.

He was friendly with most kids, but not close with any. In grade school, it hadn’t been a problem. Everyone just played with whoever was closest and no one was an outsider. But as his classmates and neighbors got older, they started forming groups. The kids who read comics. The kids who played video games. The kids who did baseball.

And then there were the kids who liked tormenting the ones who never found a group to hang on to for support.

So of course, Yuuri was an easy target. 

He was everything bullies loved to torture: shy, quiet, anxious, and worst of all, a little chubby, on occasion. 

In middle school, the other boys couldn't get enough of making fat jokes. It was especially bad when he started getting serious about figure skating. The taunts were daily once word got around that he wanted to go into it professionally. 

_ “How the hell are you gonna fit in one of those shiny little costumes?” _

_ “All Katsuki will be good for is a good laugh when he falls and his fat ass hits the ice.” _

_ “It’s a sport for girls, anyway. It’s probably the closest he’s ever gonna get to one.” _

Most of the time he'd managed to maintain a certain level of stoicism as the boys snickered at him in the hallways. It wasn’t worth it to respond - that was what they wanted. He could ignore them and escape to the rink where he focused on the ice instead. Every minute he spent working on his spins or trying to master a triple axel was a way for him to untether every snide remark he’d heard about his pudgy cheeks during the school day.

Yuuri was an athlete. He was a fighter. Someday soon he’d compete in international competitions, and that was something those boys couldn’t take away from him.

For a while that was good enough.

But in his first year of middle school, the boys took to following him when he went to his daily practices after school. When it was open skate night at Ice Castle, they would enter the rink and jeer at him as he practiced less spectacular moves and weaved throughout the other children. It was a small town with nothing to do. Bullying Yuuri was apparently better than TV. 

After months of this, Yuuri’s stoicism wore out.

They never hit him. They didn’t need to. The look of anxiety on his face when they followed him with their sneers to the rink was more than enough fuel to keep them going.

School. The rink. Even walking home. Going anywhere had become a living nightmare. 

“You look...tired,” his mother said one day after they had finished cleaning the kitchen in between meals. “Is everything all right at school?” 

Yuuri looked at his mother’s worried expression. It didn’t suit her warm, round face.

_ Things at the inn are hard enough _ , he had thought.  _ I don’t want to worry my parents about my own silly problems. _

“Everything’s fine...I’m just…stressed about school and skating stuff. It’s a lot of work.”

His mother hadn’t looked completely convinced, but a guest suddenly called her out into the common area for her assistance, forcing her to rush off and leave Yuuri to finish tidying up. 

But it stretched on. And on. And on.

Words were just words. They meant nothing. They had never actually hurt him. Nothing beyond an occasional shove. Everything was fine. He was fine.

He recited this in his head like a mantra until he almost believed it.

It wasn’t until Mari coincidentally saw some of the boys taunting Yuuri outside Ice Castle that Yuuri had to fess up to his parents.

That day, he could barely look them in the eye as he explained that the boys hadn’t really done anything aside from calling him “Fat Pig” and “Fairy Boy.” They were just words. Nothing more.

His parents looked at each other thoughtfully, the worry lines across their foreheads deepening. At that, Yuuri could only feel ashamed. So much for keeping his problems to himself. 

As his cheeks burned in shame, his mother sighed, shaking her head.

"It's true,” she said softly, her mouth turning into a wry smile. “They're just using words. Their words are empty."

"That doesn't mean it hurts any less," his father said sternly, finishing his mother’s thought.

Hiroko went over to Yuuri and took him in her arms.

"You're allowed to feel hurt, Yuuri. Just don't let it define you. You are more than anything those boys say. You're even more than anything you do.”

They spoke long into the night. Their words were simple. Gentle reminders of their love.

But when they offered to talk with Yuuri’s teacher, Yuuri declined.

“The school year is over tomorrow. I’ll hardly see them over the vacation. I’ll face them at the start of the next school year. Let me try to deal with it my way first.”

Little had he known, he needn’t worry about a dramatic face off with his school bullies.

Because at the beginning of his third year of middle school, they simply stopped.

Maybe the boys got bored. Some of the older ones were in high school already or got girlfriends. One moved away. Another would come up to Yuuri in class from time to time to ask a question about homework. For them, it was as if the last few years hadn’t happened. They could wave it away as silly boyish fun they had outgrown and forgotten about.

Yuuri didn’t bring it up again either.

But he didn’t forget.

  
  


_ Victor arrives in Hasetsu at the end of the chapter. The meeting is awkward and stilted. Both of them hope things will get better when they hit the ice (spoiler alert: it doesn’t - it gets much much worse). _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic operates on a few whatif theories about the canonverse:
> 
> Theory 1 - Without Makkachin there to provide unbridled love and affection, Victor’s ennui has no respite and is much more apparent to those close to him, in spite of his best efforts. Even Yakov knows Victor can’t continue competing the way he is, but he still dislikes the idea of Victor flying off to coach Yuuri. He sees it as a Band-aid solution. 
> 
> Theory 2 - Yuuri wouldn't have become such a Victor fanboy without Yuuko. Without her infectious enthusiasm plus Yuuri's boyhood crush on her, there's nothing there to push his interest. Thus, Yuuko doesn't exist in this fic (which is a shame because I really like her).
> 
> Theory 3 - Without Yuuko there, Takashi wouldn't have teased or become friends with Yuuri. Without older kids like Yuuko and Takashi hanging around him, Yuuri is more vulnerable and sensitive to bullying. As a child, this sucks, but since his family is so supportive, he's able to pull through and shift his fears into motivation to skate, but his anxiety and insecurities are much worse than they are in canon.


	5. Get You Wild Make You Leave 3 - He's a forest fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies to Lovers AU 3: Yuuri and Victor begin training. It sucks for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reallllly struggled with writing scenes in which Yuuri and Victor were actually in conflict, which is likely why this fic never got finished. This is why this part is really only full of scenes of them finding consolation with friends. There's more written further down the line, but I still felt these parts were worth sharing.

_ Essentially, Victor and Yuuri start training and it’s...disastrous. Victor is demanding, but not exact in what he wants Yuuri to do, and every time Yuuri is unhappy about some part of Victor’s instruction, rather than asking for clarification, he just powers through silently. Victor often ends up unknowingly belittling Yuuri about some of his weaknesses in regard to the basics and his mentality, and Yuuri says nothing in his own defense. This ends up in a lot of unproductive training sessions, with Victor struggling to tailor the programs he’d thought up to Yuuri’s abilities, and Yuuri struggling to connect with Victor.  _

_ Some Yuuri POV after a tough practice: _

Yuuri collapsed face first on his bed, his legs feeling wobbly beneath him. Celestino had put him through tough practices before, but never like this. They weren’t even working on quads yet. Victor was still bulldozing him with the basics and chastising him for not doing it all perfectly.

That patronizing sing-song voice echoed in his head.

_ “You won’t be able to manage any type of jump if your body hasn’t memorized every basic angle of balance on the ice. You should have mastered this years ago.” _

Yuuri had always been a focused skater, ready to attend to detail when necessary, but not quite like this. The charming smile and wink contradicted the piling demands Victor gave, making it harder for Yuuri to stomach the advice in the first place. Each request to tighten the angle of his take-off and redo the jump with the slightest change in weight distribution felt like overkill. And the goddamn arrogance he took on when he demonstrated what the jumps were supposed to look like…

_ “If you just did it like that every time, you would’ve been on the podium years ago, little piggy.” _

Victor was right. 

But it didn’t stop Yuuri from grimacing every time he said “little piggy.”

What had started as a stupid joke had quickly become his new moniker. Some of the people around the inn who understood enough English took it and ran with it, making Yuuri feel like he was in middle school again and being poked into a corner for being the school’s loner chubby kid. 

He thought he was past this.

Probably the most disarming thing about Victor was the way he did it, the way he could cut Yuuri with the harshest criticism with such a beautiful smile on his face. And the worst part was that most of the time, he was right.

That fact alone quieted Yuuri’s unusual impulse to snap back. He felt he had no right to. He was the one who needed the help in the first place. So instead of complaining and antagonizing Victor, Yuuri took several deep breaths and endured. He’d already sacrificed years of heartache to this sport. What was a single season full of degrading practice compared to those?

It was just another challenge. Another thing to cope with on top of...everything else.

He’d keep his pride and keep his fighting spirit on the ice. He’d manage every new idea Victor could throw at him and practice until his feet bled. He would not let that man see him weak.

As a result of his resolve, however, Yuuri had a tough time facing Victor off the ice. Victor usually softened when they left the rink, becoming more unabashedly friendly and asking Yuuri casual questions about Hasetsu and his life in general. It was like he hadn’t just put Yuuri through the most intense practice session of his life and was just some guy trying to become Yuuri’s friend.

It seemed two-faced. Dishonest. 

_ Some Victor POV as he settles into Hasetsu: _

Victor had heard the stereotype that the Japanese were quiet, reserved people many times over. But that didn’t seem to be true of the people of Hasetsu at all. They had certainly been a bit hesitant to approach him at first, whispering as they stared at him from afar whenever he walked through town. Hasetsu didn’t receive many foreigners, and Victor stuck out like a tall, silver-haired thumb. After the novelty of his arrival faded, however, people got used to seeing him around and were more than friendly. Few could speak a word of English, but that didn’t stop them from saying hello to him as he passed or asking him questions he struggled to understand or answer. 

Most of his conversations ended up becoming an elaborate game of charades and random words he thought he remembered reading in his Japanese 101 app. Regardless of whether or not the word he used was correct, people patted him on the back just for trying.

In Yuuri’s own family, neither his mother nor his father could manage much English, but they welcomed him with an open kitchen and several open bottles, both of them generous in their hospitality. He suspected Mari understood more English than she let on, especially when she snickered at his struggles to communicate with some of the other guests at the inn.

In the end, the one Victor struggled to communicate with most was one of the few people who spoke fluent English in this town: Yuuri.

_ Yuuri and Phichit discussing the disastrous practices: _

“You sound...really miserable.”

Yuuri could feel Phichit’s concern emanating from the screen. He’d just related his daily schedule by the hour. The further he got through the explanation, the more reticent and watchful Phichit became. He wondered if his face looked strange, if the droopiness in his eyes made him look even worse than he already felt.

“Being a tough coach is one thing, but this all sounds kinda mean. Which is weird, because he doesn’t really seem like he’d be like that when you see him on TV.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighed, curling up into a ball. “His personality is pretty weird. I kind of don’t get his whole attitude? He keeps...he keeps calling me ‘little piggy.’”

“HE WHAT?!” 

Yuuri almost dropped his phone, surprised by his friend’s outburst.

“Yeah...and he says it in front of everyone...plus the way he says it...it’s like he thinks it’s endearing. I don’t really like it.”

Phichit was more than familiar with all the problems Yuuri had had with his body image when he was younger. He knew exactly how hard Yuuri had worked in Detroit to move past those memories. He'd been by Yuuri’s side multiple times when he relived the moments just before major competitions.

“That is NOT ok. I’m buying a plane ticket NOW so I can fly over and kick Nikiforov’s well-toned ass!”

Phichit’s voice rang loudly over the phone. Yuuri winced, grateful but not really feeling any relief from Phichit's threat.

“Please don’t do that. I need to keep him around in one piece as my coach.”

Yuuri could see Phichit's expression soften as he tilted his head to the side, his calm concern returning.

“But you don’t  _ have _ to keep him as your coach,” he insisted. “People break it off with their coaches over much less. Celestino would still be happy to be your coach. Maybe he couldn’t make it out before Japanese Nationals, but he’d definitely be there to support both of us for Four Continents, if we qualify. Before then you guys could do video sessions. Send him recordings of your practices to get feedback. Just call it quits with Victor after the Grand Prix.”

Yuuri cringed at the word quit. He didn’t want to be a quitter. He especially didn’t want Victor to think he was one. It wasn’t a great option. But could he really manage training like this for a full season?

“Will he even know how to handle it if you…”

Phichit paused. Yuuri knew what he was going to ask.

“If I have a meltdown?”

His friend nodded. “Have you even told him about it?”

Yuuri shook his head, practically burying the side of his head in his pillow.

“I don’t think he even knows the meaning of the word ‘anxiety.’ I don’t think he’d really get it.”

“Yuuri...you’ve got to be able to tell your own coach if you have...issues. This isn’t going to work.”

Yuuri could tell Phichit was holding back his other favorite argument. He’d been telling Yuuri to get professional help for years. Yuuri used to plead that between training and studying, he was far too busy, but that argument wouldn’t hold water now. He wasn’t studying anymore. He was training a lot more seriously, but he still theoretically had time to make an appointment with a therapist. 

“I’ve got to make it work. Even if we kill each other by the end of this. It sucks and it's annoying, but as far as skating goes, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“I never said he was bad at the technical stuff. But if you guys can’t get along on a basic level or find some common ground, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“We have one thing in common, at least,” Yuuri said, rubbing his eyes as the temptation of sleep started to take over.

“What?”

“We both hate losing as much as we hate each other.”

“Ugh. That’s so not healthy. Promise you’ll think about firing him?” 

Yuuri sighed. “Yeah, ok. I’ll make a final decision after the Grand Prix Final...if I even make it that far.”

“Stop. If there’s one thing you’re getting out of this thing with Nikiforov, it’s a spot on the podium at the Grand Prix Final...right below me, of course,” Phichit winked. “You just have to decide if it’s all really worth it.”

_ More Victor settling into Hasetsu and hanging out with Minako: _

Victor sighed.

Once again, Yuuri had chosen to withdraw to his room immediately after dinner, leaving Victor to entertain himself. Victor had spent a handful of nights drinking and gesturing with Toshiya, but they couldn’t do that every night. Mari seemed to have her own crowd to tend to, while Hiroko was simply too busy either cleaning up the Onsen or looking over the administrative work with Toshiya. They were still warm people, but Victor didn’t quite fit into anybody’s life at the moment. Not even the life of the man he’d travelled over the better part of a continent to train.

It’s not as if he’d expected to be hosted every evening, but he’d hoped he and Yuuri could at least spend a few nights chatting and relaxing. Perhaps that would’ve helped to bridge the gap. They didn’t have to be best friends, but they could’ve at least been friendly. Nowadays, Victor found doing even that much was a chore with Yuuri.

Yuuri made it almost impossible to pretend to be energetic. He gave Victor nothing. No cheery response to bounce off of or even a sarcastic remark to joke about. Victor actually found himself missing the explosive reactions from the other Yuri. At least Yuri Plisetsky saw fit to meet Victor in his own way - Yuuri Katsuki stubbornly refused. 

It was more than just frustrating.

It was…

It was like it had been in St. Petersburg. 

A bit worse, actually. 

Being alone in his own apartment in the city he'd lived in for more than a decade had been one thing. Being alone in a country where he didn’t speak the language and was friendless was quite another.

He’d underestimated what it meant to be surrounded by the familiar. He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on his old routines until he had to break all of them. Had Yakov been right? Was Victor’s desperation for something new and challenging really worth all this?

Victor didn’t like regrets. 

He also didn’t like being wrong.

To rid himself of the feeling, Victor took to leaving Yuu-topia and exploring Hasetsu on his own after dinner. Hasetsu didn’t have a particularly lively nightlife, but it had its own smalltown charms.

Some evenings he just walked along the seaside. Though he’d already spent many of his daylight hours there, he never seemed to tire of it. The ocean was so vast and ever-changing. It was the only thing Victor found more demanding and enchanting than the ice. On moonless nights, Victor could easily stand in awe of the dynamic abyss before him for hours. On nights when the moon peaked, Victor could admire the waves ebbing and flowing against the shore by the whimsy of celestial gravity. He found some measure of comfort there. It was an odd feeling of familiarity. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend like he had been taking his usual evening stroll in St. Petersburg. 

Other nights he did his best to explore the small fare Hasetsu had to offer. If he couldn’t get Yuuri to talk to him, he could at least blabber nonsense with the usual group of drunks who frequented the same round of establishments every evening. Much to his surprise, the bars he _did_ find tended to stay open until 2 or 3 am, depending on which loyal customers were around.

After a few evenings of practiced Japanese greetings and enthusiastic kanpai’s, Victor managed to ingratiate himself with one or two drinking circles at a few places.

His favorite was the bar run by Yuuri’s former dance teacher, Minako. It was never particularly lively, but Minako herself was fairly amusing, and one of the few bartenders who could speak English fluently. She retold all the stories she entertained her regulars with to Victor in English and managed to put up with Victor’s more outlandish cocktail requests (she’d often replace absinthe with some Japanese liquor that tasted nothing like absinthe, but was far tastier). 

Her drunken antics and obnoxious personality had gotten her into a bit of fun and a bit of trouble during her days as a world-travelling dancer. There was the time she’d convinced a bouncer to let her and a large group of friends into a prestigious club by doing a pirouette while balancing a beer bottle on her head. Or the time the man she’d spent the night with, whom she had thought was single, requested her to leave before his wife came back to their apartment. Instead of leaving quietly, she walked around the building and climbed her way up the fire escape back to the man’s apartment. She sat and waited until the wife returned, breezed through the window she’d left open for herself, thanked the man for the fun evening, and left the couple dumbstruck as she chaséd out the door.

Her sense of humor about it all was delightful. An easy way to pass an evening and forget the horrible practice session he’d had with his silently stubborn, bull-headed student.

But then one night, Victor and Minako started talking about skating. 

“I’ve been obsessed since I was a kid,” she said as she cleaned a few glasses while Victor finished his last drink of the night. “If I had had a rink around me instead of just a dance studio growing up, I probably would’ve been an ice skater instead.”

“The ice skating world obviously missed out,” Victor chuckled, taking a sip from his last drink.

Minako shrugged. “Perhaps. I guess that’s why when I had really great students, I pushed them to ice skating too. Ice Castle opened up around the time I opened my dance studio here. I ended up being Ice Castle’s main funnel for skaters-to-be. That’s actually how Yuuri started skating.”

That piqued Victor’s curiosity a bit. Yuuri had mentioned his dance teacher had recommended it to him, but hadn’t explained much beyond that.

“Did he take to it right away or…” he started.

“Oh God, no. He was terrible at first,” she laughed. “But I think that’s why he got so into it. He was determined not to fall anymore. After a while, he was spending more time on the ice than anywhere else. I think he traded most of his hours on the playground for hours on the ice instead.”

Victor nodded, half-smiling. That sounded about right. Yuuri was motivated to a fault when it came to practice time. It frustrated Victor to no end.

“I don't mean to be nosey..." Minako started, side-eyeing Victor as she placed the last clean glass back on the shelves.

Victor waited, not looking forward to whatever the dance instructor had to say. Anyone starting a sentence like that totally meant to be nosey.

"But I saw your practice the other day with Yuuri. It was...rough.”

“I know,” Victor laughed, still trying to play cheerful even though his own failure weighed on his chest like a 10 kilo rock. “We’re still trying to find the right pace.”

Minako raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Victor could feel her mood shift from casual to defensive in an instant.

“Maybe it’d be easier to find the ‘right pace’ if you laid off on the ‘little piggy' stuff. I know it's just a joke, but for Yuuri it's kind of sensitive territory. He's too proud to say it, but it's definitely getting to him."

Victor knew.

Every time Victor said it, Yuuri froze up, his eyes burning with something. But then he’d suddenly skate or walk away without a word. The third time this happened, Victor made an important decision.

"If Yuuri really doesn't like it, he can tell me himself."

Minako’s jaw dropped. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed him, apparently trying to make sense of Victor as a whole.

“If you noticed, then why haven’t you said anything? This is really important stuff to Yuuri,” she spat. "Is this whole coaching thing some kind of joke to you?" 

"No,” he said, his smile turning wry. “I'm taking it very seriously. And I can't help Yuuri unless he tells me what he wants. He needs to learn how to communicate with me."

Minako sighed, taking out one of the clean glasses she’d just put on the shelf and filling it with liquor from a bottle she hadn’t even bothered to look at. She drank half of it in one gulp and sighed.

“I get what you mean,” she said, her temper from earlier dying down, “But I don't think doing it this way is going to work with Yuuri. Take it from someone who's been trying to support him for years.”

Minako’s words weren’t bad advice at all. Victor almost wanted to take it.

Maybe that would’ve been the smart thing to do.

But as a coach, Victor had already made a decision. He came into this with his own plan. He needed to commit to it.

Right?

“I appreciate the advice, but Yuuri's my student now. If he wants a spot on the podium, then I'll do whatever it takes to get him there, whether he likes it or not.”

Minako frowned, swirling the leftover liquor in her glass.

“Fine. You're the coach. If Yuuri keeps putting up with it I guess that's his choice. But don't be surprised when he bites back.”

Victor knocked back the rest of his drink and stood up. He shot Minako a wink before leaving.

“I'm looking forward to it, believe it or not.”

_ A Chris and Victor phone conversation about the current disaster: _

“So,” Chris said casually. “How's coaching?”

“Really frustrating, honestly,” Victor sighed into the phone, trying to distract himself with his hair whorl in the mirror.

“Oh my!” Victor could hear a note of amusement in Chris’s voice. “Has the great Victor Nikiforov finally met his match?”

Victor bristled at the suggestion. But he couldn’t help but whine. “He doesn't listen, and he doesn't tell me anything!”

“Oh, and  _ you're  _ always so attentive and forthcoming?”

“When it comes to skating, yes! I have no idea how to work with this guy. What does he want me to be? Why am I even here?”

“I thought he wanted you to be his coach,” Chris said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“When I see him shudder and fall I almost get angry. I know he’s good. I know he can do better. He could even be the best.”

Chris snorted. “Um, excuse me? I’m also competing this year, thank you very much.”

Victor ignored Chris’s comment and continued his tirade. “I feel like he’s wasting his talent! Over what? A lot of wasted energy on hurt feelings. He takes all of my criticism too personally. He needs to learn how to separate the two.”

“The Victor Nikiforov brand of honest criticism always tends to leave a little personal burn,” he mused. “Maybe coaching isn’t your thing.”

Victor allowed himself to collapse backwards on to the bed, exhausted, indignant and confused all at once. “Then what  _ is  _ my thing?”

“Victor, I am neither your career counselor nor your shrink. You don’t pay me enough for what I already do.”

“I don’t pay you at all,” Victor said, rolling onto his side.

“Exactly.”

Victor chuckled a little, remembering why he had called Chris in the first place - for some cheering up.

“All right,” he gave in, smiling just a little. “Next round of drinks is on me.”

“But really I'm surprised,” Chris said.

“What? I’ve treated you before.”

“No, I mean you being so...so mad. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you get so worked up over something before. You almost sound angry. You’re never angry. Not for real, anyway.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been angry before.”

“Catty, yes. But in general, you are Princess ‘Smile-through-the-pain’ Nikiforov. And by that I mean, smile while you tear someone apart in the most savage way possible and then skip away as if nothing happened.”

Victor didn’t mind the princess title, but he did mind Chris’s suggestion that he wasn’t expressing himself properly.

“That’s not true at all,” he shot back, scouring his brain for an outburst or even a fight. “What about that time I took you out shopping on the Champs-Elyseé for your 18th birthday?”

“Ugh. Yes. That was gauche.”

Victor could hear Chris’s disgusted shudder over the phone.

“But you were being cute and Pretty Woman-ing. Not angry and yelling. Big difference.”

“HUGE.”

Chris didn’t respond for a beat.

“Nikiforov, I’m hanging up on you for that one.”

“But Chriiiis! You practically baited me!”

“No seriously. I have to go. I’m in the middle of a break from practice. And isn’t it past midnight or something for you? Go to sleep.”

Victor whined into the phone until he heard the click of Chris hanging up.


End file.
